


Poor unfortunate souls

by metawohoo



Series: Slovenly lackadaisical cynic [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Violence, diverges after episode 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 91,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metawohoo/pseuds/metawohoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What can be put both on paper and on strings, yet read by few, and voiced by even less?”</p><p>In which Harvey and Jim investigate a strange murder connected to a long closed case. Then all hell breaks looses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love will tear us apart

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows "To the casual observer" but is not _really_ a sequel. This is me having fun with the character development I used in TTCO.  
>  The story is much darker than TTCO and covers more characters, as well as a murder investigation and some additional subplots. It diverges after episode 16.  
> There is _quite_ a lot of things to set up for this story so please bear with me! Thanks.
> 
> ALSO: I had no idea the creator of the show was called Bruno Heller when I started writing this. I swear I got the last name of the OCs in the fic from a random name generator.

“So who's our victim?” Jim asked, arriving on his newest crime scene more than a little late.

He'd been on the phone when Harvey had called, for a long discussion with Barbara. Much to his surprise, she had barely mentioned their relationship. Her quick “I know you have moved on” had felt like a punch to the gut. No. She had vanished for five months, but that didn't require further discussion. She had called for a totally different reason.

“I seem to have acquired two teenage girls”, she had announced. “You might know them. Cat and Ivy. It would seem they have been living in my apartment for... Several weeks at least? And I think you know them.”

“Oh God. I'm sorry. I didn't think Cat would be back and... Wait, Ivy? Pepper?”

“That one. I don't really mind that they live here - or I won't once I get rid of the plantation in the tub - but I think it's not very legal to pick random children up like stray pets. I figured you might have suggestions on what I should do with them.”

Jim wasn't sure he had replied to that. He remembered being totally dumbfounded.

“I can't turn them in, can I?” Barbara had continued. “You remember as well as me what Mayor James said about getting the kids off the streets... 'And into the loving arms of Juvenile Services'. So I'll be keeping them until I can find them a good place that isn't children's prison. But I could use help to locate such a place. Are you still listening?”

“Uh...”

“Do you think you can help?”

“I'll do my best. Just don't tell Selina you called me. She'd run off.”

“Thank you, Jim. And I won't. Now, you might want to know that Ivy does not want to be adopted, she...”

Her description of the girls had gone on for a long while, full of details on the kind of places that would be suitable for them. After ten solid minutes, he had managed to collect his brains and follow it, too.

He had hung up with a promise to do his best and the feeling that a bit of his soul had dried up and died. “Moved on”. It was true, in a sense. He had Leslie. She was wonderful. He was falling quick and hard for her. But maybe a relationship of five years deserved a better burial than some half-assed mention in the middle of another conversation.

He had arrived on that crime scene very, very angry.

The victim was a man, lying on his back with multiple stab wounds, a dislocated jaw, and what looked like a cylinder of metal between his lips. That wasn't good. Specificities like that meant a killer with a MO, maybe a repeat offender, and definitely one of the lunatics.

“Zachary Brook”, Harvey announced. “Regular piece of shit, just got out of prison, where he was sent because he stalked his ex-girlfriend for three years, then abducted her and beat her to death with an iron pole. Model citizen, couldn’t possibly have enemies.”

“I guess we're off to talk with everyone who ever cared about that ex-girlfriend”, Jim commented. He pointed at the metal cylinder. “What's that?”

One of the forensics guys extracted the item and bagged it. It looked like a mechanical piece of sorts, covered in pins. Ed, who had been collecting litter from around the scene, turned to see.

“What can be put both on paper and on strings, yet read by few, and voiced by even less?” he asked.

Harvey groaned.

“I swear, Nygma, you need to see someone about that riddles thing.”

For a second, the younger man looked like a kicked puppy. He composed himself, though, and smiled.

“Music. The answer is music and _this_ ”, he said as he pointed to the metallic cylinder, “is a pin drum. It's a music box part. It's used to pluck the teeth of a steel comb to produce the various notes.”

Lunatic confirmed.

“Do your thing with it and then clean it up. We'll need it later”, Jim said. He turned to Harvey. “Let's find out where those things are sold.”

 

###

 

The post-its were a tradition of sorts. Well, not exactly a tradition. More of an habit. Or a necessity. Sarah would come home at three, four AM from a long day at the precinct, and write a “I love you all, kisses” note she pasted on the fridge. Then she would go and kiss her sleeping girls, and slip into her bed to cuddle against her sleeping husband.

She would sometimes cross their path as they were awake, over cereal, in the early morning. But, if you had to be honest, it didn't happen that much. She was often called back at five or six, because the GCPD never slept and corpses didn't have the courtesy to wait for working hours to be found.

So she left post-its and Anna and Sofia left drawings, and Michael left post-its too.

Or, in this case, divorce papers taped to the fridge door.

“I'm taking the girls to my mother's”, he had written on a blue square of paper on top of them. “I'm asking for full custody.”

He had dated the note, too. Two days before. She probably should have found it that same day, not at one AM on the Saturday she finally came home after three days of sleeping in her office.

On the kitchen table, he had placed the Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcakes dolls that Salvatore Maroni had sent to the girls when she had helped Gordon arrest Flass.

She had spent the night shaking and weeping. It was now nearly noon, however, so it was time to put on her big girl panties. She showered, plastered her face with enough make up to appear healthy, and drove to Michael's mother's home. The old lady peeked outside through the curtains, and opened the front door as Sarah was walking to it. Sarah smiled nervously, doing her best not to flinch under her look of disapproval.

“Rosa, it's good to see you”, she squeaked.

She could handle Gillian Loeb and Aubrey James. Why was it harder to simply greet one tiny, arthritic old lady?

“We've been waiting for you”, Rosa replied. “Come on in.”

Sarah nodded and followed her inside.

“MOMMYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” Anna shouted as soon as she saw her, before jumping into her arms.

“Hi there, Cupcake”, her mother said, hugging her tight.

She wished she could never let go.

“Daddy said you were busy at work but you would come soon and I said we should telephone, but he said you had a lot to do, and Sofia said 'whatever' and Nana said 'this afternoon' but you're already here and I'm so, so, so, soooooo glad.”

“I'm glad too, Cupcake. Let me take a good look at you. Is that glue on your nose?”

“We've been playing cards”, the six years old said, as if it explained everything.

Sarah looked up. Sofia was sitting at the living room's table, a fan of cards in her hand. She was sulking and withdrawn. Of course. She was eight, old enough to understand what was going on.

“Hello, sweetie”, Sarah sighed.

She went to hug her too, but the girl freed herself with an angry puff.

“You're late.”

“I know. I know. I'm so sorry.”

“No you're _not._ ”

Sarah hugged her again, more forcefully, not so much to comfort her than to prevent her from noticing the sob she was swallowing. Then she felt Michael enter the room - not movement, not sound, maybe something in the air - and she turned.

“Sarah”, he murmured.

She breathed in.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, and they locked themselves into the kitchen. He turned the radio on, so the girls could not listen in. They both sat without saying a word for an eternity.

“I'm not fighting you for this”, Sarah said at last. “You can have full custody.”

Her words were strangled. She had thought about it long and hard. Every angle, every issue, sorted, studied, filed.

“It's not just that I am not there for them - though it's bad enough. I-I can't p-provide a safe home, we will a-always get those letters and threats and g-gifts and... They'll be better off with you. They'll be safer. And you. You. You w-will always make time for them.”

And she would not. She wouldn't quit. She had fought her way up, she had sacrificed everything, and yet she couldn't quit. It wasn't a matter of status or pride, and most of her fellow cops - the honest ones - would understand. She could stand in the bullpen and point at random, she would find someone in her situation. Most of them, their lives train wrecks because they gave everything to the job, because they would give anything to do just a little more  _good_ . They could be washed up and broken like Harvey, they could be closed up and efficient like Carlos, they could be crusaders like Jim... At the core, they all had that something in common. They could compromise, but they couldn't quit.

Michael knew that. He knew that when he had married her, and had been alright with it, but you couldn't have children and expect the cards not to change. They had to think of the girls first. It wasn't a matter of loving each other or not. He looked at her as she sobbed, and he broke down too.

“I'm sorry”, he said, changing chairs so he could sit next to her to hold her. “I'm sorry it has to come to this. I'll do my best.”

“I know.  _I know_ .”

 

###

 

“Will you please stop  _wailing?_ I am  _braiding_ your hair, not setting it on fire!”

“You're still pulling on it!” Ivy protested.

Barbara sighed. Had  _she_ ever been that insufferable when her maid took care of hair hair as a child? No, of course not. She loved to have pretty, fancy hair, and she would have sat through hours of being poked with pins and scratched with brushes, smiling all the way through. She had never been encouraged to act like a child. 

“Well, that wouldn't happen if you stopped moving and just let me work, would it? And I swear if you don't calm down this instant, you're ending up with princess Leia's hairstyle.”

Ivy snorted, in a long, wet, slurpy noise.

“And blow your nose!”

Selina, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sofa, chuckled at that.

“Going all regular mom, aren't you?”

“Going all regular  _adult_ . You two girls will drive me crazy. Also I'm not fond of Ivy's hair.”

“It's not my fault I had lice!” the redhead piped in.

“It's your fault I got it too”, Barbara mumbled.

It wasn't, not really - you couldn't blame the girl for living in the streets, with the hygiene standards it involved - but  _lice_ . 

“Do we even need to braid my hair? I don't wanna  _go_ to that water park.”

“Hey!” Selina protested. “I wanna! I mean, I'm not opposed. Stop ruining everyone's fun.”

“Then you can go without me”, Ivy pointed in that horrible, mean sing-song voice children could take when they wanted to be insufferable jackals.

Barbara ground her teeth. She could not let a preteen girl turn what was supposed to be a fun, carefree afternoon into an open war.

“We have covered this!” she snapped. “Fine. Keep your hair as you want it. Everyone in the car.”

The rest of the day went better. They swam. They suntanned. They ate terrible, overpriced ice cream. Ivy looked at the water from afar. Cat did everything listed as forbidden on the slides. Ivy inspected every plant in sight and frowned at the plastic ones. Cat pushed Ivy into a pool. Cat pulled Ivy out of the pool (“Why didn't you tell me you couldn't swim, you  _idiot_ ?”. “I can swim just fine, but you won't do this again  _now_ , will you?”). Cat pushed Ivy into a pool  _a second time_ .

It was fun.

Fun wasn't meant to last.

“I don't mean to be rude or what, but when's the last time you had your period?” Selina asked as they walked to the cabin, Ivy lagging well behind.

Barbara gaped. She had never been questioned about that particular topic, except by her doctor. You didn't  _discuss_ that particular topic.

“I, uh. Why?”

“Just because.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes so she could feel less mortified.

“I do not menstruate. I've been on antipsychotics, for the anxiety. It's a side effect. Your flow, huh, sometimes stops.”

Cat looked down at her belly.

“I think you should get a pregnancy test. There's something about the way fat deposit works, and it's not like  _that_ .”

Barbara rolled her eyes at that.

“Selina, I've been separated from Jim for five months. I can't be pregnant.”

“If you're sure...”

“I'm sure.”

She still stopped by a pharmacy on the way home, since the girl kept bringing the topic up. Then she took the test, looked at the result, and had a panic attack.

 

###

 

“Our victim is an ex-con, just got out for good behaviour after murdering Karen Page, his ex-girlfriend. Caveney's case, but he retired, so we're waiting for him to call us”, Jim explained to Sarah. “We've been focusing on the relatives of  _Brook's_ victim so far, until Ed is done with that pin drum. We have a list of stores selling music boxes, we'll hit some, see if there's something special with that thing, if it can be tracked down to a manufacturer, anything.”

Sarah nodded, a few seconds after he was done talking.

“How did it go with the relatives?”

“Both the girl's parents were in a plane from Florida at the time of death, so they're clear. We talked to the girl's godfather, who said he would gladly shake the hand of the killer, but  _he_ was at work with witnesses. We still have an aunt coming in from Blüdhaven, should be here in thirty minutes or so.”

Essen nodded again and started to walk away.

“Keep me updated.”

“You alright, cap'?” Harvey asked.

Jim had to admit he was concerned too. The woman's make up didn't quite conceal the dark circles under her eyes, and her hands were shaking.

“Yes. Keep looking”, she snapped, before running off to her office. She closed the blinds.

Harvey frowned and exchanged a looks with Alvarez, who pursued his lips. They were all concerned, then. Carlos went and knocked on the door, but was sent away with a curt “Busy!”. He shook his head and walked away.

“They could have hired someone”, Jim said once his partner started to focus on the case again. “Timed it with their flight, perfect alibi.”

“I'm nose deep into their phone records and all they ever call is their own work or a pizza joint. One or two calls a week to Aunt Olivia in Blüdhaven, all of the rest is banks and shit like that.”

“The godfather was arrested for beating the guy up. Twice.”

“And he hasn't paid his phone bill in four months so he doesn't have records to look at.”

Harvey dragged his chair next to Jim's and spread the Karen Page case files.

“See someone we've overlooked?”

Jim closed his eyes. A month before, he had more or less, vaguely, in not so many words, confessed his attraction to his partner. Harvey had vaguely, in not so many words, but absolutely shot him down. So Jim had focused on Leslie, whom he was very clearly, in a lot of words he had already voiced, not only attracted to but also in love with. He had put that tiny, unrequited thing for Harvey in a box, and was attempting to let it die down. The desire still hit him, every now and then. Thankfully, it happened less and less.

“Let me check. She had a fiancee. What happened to the guy?”

They checked. He was married, in Pennsylvania. So they looked into the woman's cousins, friends and acquaintances, until they were sure they were grasping at straws.

Then the aunt arrived. Much like the godfather, she felt like celebrating.

“The bastard made her life hell. Abused her while he was with her, destroyed her after she left. And the way he killed her... Please tell me whoever got him broke all of his bones and shattered his face, too. He deserved it. He deserved worse.”

By that point, Harvey was no help at all. Once he had filed a crime in his “public service homicide” folder, he lost interest in closing the case. So Jim glared at him when he seemed to lose focus, and managed the interrogation on his own.

“So where were you yesterday between four and six PM?”

“I was at work. I clocked out at five to six. Here, I printed my time sheet.”

Jim stifled a groan.

“Thank you, ma'am. Very helpful. Just a last question. Did your niece, or mister Brooks, ever show an interest in music boxes?”

Her dumbfounded look told him everything he needed to know.

 

###

 

It had taken Fish three weeks to get her hands on a gun, but only because she had to study her enemies first. Before one got a weapon with maybe ten rounds top, one had to make a list of who should die first. Priorities were important.

By the time she shot the four armed henchmen who were bringing them back to the basement-slash-prison, she had a good idea of the floor plans, the guards' routines, and of the pecking order among the “staff”.

She had hit them in the back as they left, and the last one, the one locking the door, had looked at her with the worst look of terrified surprise. People always seemed to be shocked that she could, in fact, fight. They saw her seducing, and tricking, and bargaining, and they thought she could only use others to do her bidding, even when she went after people with baseball bats and electric knifes. It had been the same when she had started her long, arduous rise to power under Falcone, as the tall, lanky girl of twenty she had been. Fake nails, fancy dresses, and people believed you couldn't fend for yourself.

_How stupid do you think I am?_

Yes, she knew how to use a gun, and she knew how to stab people. She had lived in the deepest gutters of Gotham and climbed her way to the top. She could defend herself at thirteen, with a blade and dirty blows, and she had kept learning as she aged.

“So, my darlings”, she had told the other prisoners as she unlocked the bars. “We have three shotguns, a nightstick and two tasers. Now I'm going to give them to those who can use them, and that small group is going to go upstairs  _in an orderly fashion_ . Our first priority is to get more guns. In the meantime, you all barricade yourselves in here, out of shooting range. Pile up what you can as cover. We'll be back before the doors can be opened.”

The raid had gone well. They had lost two men, but their jailors had lost sixteen. The screams of the prisoners couldn't be heard from the main facility, so she had hoped that gunshots couldn't either (then again, she had managed to get a gun with a silencer. Without that, she wouldn't have risked it). They had moved quickly enough not to make the rest of the guards suspicious of the lateness of the men who had escorted her down.

Then their jailors had lost the rest of their men, because you couldn’t expect abducted, mutilated people to behave rationally.

She had given them the head of their leader - the one who had been cutting them up, selling their organs, and sometimes eating them - in a very public, final execution.

They had taken one of the ships they had found on that dreadful island to sail back to shore, and most of her new “family” had dispersed. They had relatives. They had lives. They had medical needs, even. Some of the unlucky “donors” had died of gangrene or infection on the island already, like that poor girl who had lost her eyes.

Fish had kept some of the hardened criminals as hired muscle, and given a call to an old enemy who owed her.

“Salvatore. How nice it is to talk to you. I was wondering if, by any chance, you had job openings in that family of yours. I hear our Penguin friend has taken my club. I find myself with quite a lot of free time.”

 

###

 

Jim parked in front of “Heller's musical antiques”, and took in the looks of the small shop as he got out of the car. The sign was faded and cracked, the paint was peeling from the walls - someone had put a fresh coat on them, it wasn't holding - but everything he could see through the window looked pristine and well arranged. A restored violin was on display next to an accordion; and a set of flutes was placed on a shelf to the side. He could see horns, and bells, and even one of those baroque pianos, deep inside the shop. No music boxes, though.

“So, tell me why this is our place?”

“Last store in town that manufactured custom music boxes. The guy who made them was arrested for murder ten years ago and died in Blackgate. His wife is the owner now. I figured she might know how to assemble the things.”

“If her husband was arrested for homicide, she's not going to want to talk to us”, Jim pointed out.

He still entered the store, where a bulky young man was watching the door. If he wasn't a guard, he had clearly been hired for his physique. Considering the price tag on most of the merchandise, petty thieves had to be discouraged. The place also had four security cameras, one in each corner of the room.

“Can I help you?” the man asked.

“Would it be possible to talk to Mrs. Heller?”

“Of course, sir.”

The employee rang a bell, and middle-aged woman came in, quiet and fragile and proper like Barbara's mother would have been if she had not been a bitch. This woman had a kind smile, and clear eyes and, as far as Jim could see, not a mean bone in her body.

“Can I help you, sirs?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Heller. I'm detective Gordon from the GCPD, here's my partner, detective Bullock. I hope we do not impose. We could use your help about a case in progress.”

She blanched.

“Technical!” Jim added with a faint feeling of panic, hit by guilt as he saw her face turn white. “Purely technical questions. On music boxes. That's all. Your store is well known for selling them.”

Harvey spared him a “you nincompoop” look. He took over.

“A piece of a music box was found a few steps away from a murder victim. We were wondering if there was a way to track a manufacturer, or - I don't know - a model, or to know anything about it.”

The victim's house had been searched. He owned no music box, in pieces or not.

“Ah. I'm sorry but music boxes were my husband's hobby. He collected them, repaired them... Sometimes customized them. But he passed away a few years ago, and while I can - more or less - assemble the pieces... It's not really my cup of tea. I'm so very sorry.”

Harvey still extracted the cylinder from his pocket and held it out, still bagged.

“Sure you can't take a look?” he insisted with his best smile. “Would be a tremendous help if you knew anything, ma'am.”

She put on her reading glasses, then took the bag and examined the pin drum.

“Oh”, she murmured, stricken. “Oh. I think this may be Cadence's.”

“Cadence?” Jim asked, worried by her desolate expression.

“Bruno, please close the shop, will you? Detectives... Come with me to the workshop. I'll have better light.”

Jim and Harvey exchanged a glance and followed her to the back of the store. The workshop was filled to the brim with old instruments, crates and cardboard boxes. There was little dust to be found, but you could tell the room was scarcely used. Everything was too orderly. Mrs. Heller walked to the farthest table and put the cylinder under a magnifying lamp. The wall behind the table was covered in faded family pictures, polaroids of a man and a girl from her childhood to adolescence.

Mrs. Heller remained silent and unmoving for a long while.

“You said you found this on a crime scene?” she asked in a broken voice.

“It was in the perimeter, ma'am”, Harvey said. “Flagged as a suspicious item, I say the forensics boys had no clue what it was and picked it up just in case.”

She breathed in.

“My daughter used to make those. She was to work with her father in the shop, she loved the mechanical, repairs aspect of it. When she was ten or so, he started teaching her how to disassemble and reassemble music boxes. Then how to build them. They would buy parts, and those silly overpriced decorative boxes from IKEA. They'd make them, and she would sell them five dollars each to her school friends. I used to say: 'children, you will bankrupt us'.”

Jim took a better look at the pictures on the wall. They were old, and none of them pictured the girl over the age of eighteen. There was no point asking why she “used to” make music boxes.

“You said they bought the parts. What about the pin drums?”

The woman finally moved away from the table and turned to them.

“The girls wanted more melodies, so Cadence learned how to draw the notes on paper for a specific comb, and her father would make the cylinders. Then she grew older and she made them herself. Signed them, too. Look, there's a 'C'.”

Jim inspected the metal. The signature looked like a scratch in the metal, but it was there.

“How many of those did your daughter sell bef...”

Harvey bit his own tongue. Mrs. Heller turned to him.

“You don't know what happened, do you? I assumed you would, with my husband being... Well, a criminal, I suppose.”

“We did not look into your husband's case, no, I'm sorry”, Jim apologized. “All our apologies. We were pressed by time and came straight here. We didn't mean to cause any distress.”

“Pressed by time, yet you investigate a small, unknown item found some distance away from the victim?”

Jim stayed silent at that. Harvey was the good liar.

Harvey cleared his throat.

“It was found a bit closer than that”, Jim said. “We can't divulge such details, however, as it is an open investigation.”

“Let's have coffee”, Mrs. Heller offered.

They followed her to the kitchen. The chimney, too, was covered in family pictures, mostly of the girl. “Cadence, 6, school fair”. “Cadence, 10 th birthday”, of the girl blowing the candles of a cake, surrounded by half a dozen kids her age. Four in an inflatable plastic pool. Five on a bike with training wheels. Seven, playing the guitar. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, up to eighteen.

Mrs. Heller boiled some water and prepared fresh coffee, as they took in the wall of memories and the rest of the small, cosy room.

“To answer your question, detective Bullock”, she said as she poured three fresh cups of coffee, “Cadence would make up to four a week when she felt like it, and then stop for months. To her school friends, it was novelty. A personal jukebox. She made the boxes so you could change the cylinders easily. The sound was terrible, they broke down in a matter of days, the first models anyway... But she did sell them. I'd say she made about two hundred different songs. I have a box somewhere, with all the paper versions of the cylinders.”

“We'll need to know the school your girl went to. Maybe our victim just went there, had the pin drum because he bought it back then”, Harvey tried.

They were hardened cops who had held a gun to Don Falcone's face, and they couldn't gather the courage to mention the girl's death. They'd have to check the father's case.

“And conveniently kept it in his or her pocket for at least ten years? Well, try me. Who was it?”

“Zachary Brook.”

She thought for a moment.

“I can't say it rings a bell. She went to St. Peter. Five blocks away.”

“We'll check, thank you very much. Er... You said the drums were interchangeable? Is there any chance you have some box that can read this one?”

Mrs. Heller closed her eyes.

_She didn't throw a single thing away_ .

“Yes. Yes, I believe I do. Just let me fetch one.”

She vanished upstairs for several minutes, during which the two cops didn't dare to utter a sound. She came back with a pink and white wooden box, painted to look like a suitcase, with a little felt handle glued on. She held her hand out, and Harvey gave her the cylinder. It took a few moments to put it into place, then they watched her wind up the music box.

It played a melody that Jim knew but couldn't quite place. His partner, however, mouthed the words.

“Once again?” he said when the music stopped.

The store owner was watching him intently. She played the music again.

“Every breath you take”, he murmured. “Every move you take. Every bond you break, every step you take...”

“'I'll be watching you'. By Sting, if I'm not mistaken”, Mrs. Heller completed. “I take from your expression that this pertains to your case?”

_Every breath you take, I'll be watching you._ A song about a stalker, for a victim who had stalked and murdered a girl. So it  _was_ a revenge killing, with a cryptic message and signature. 

“It might”, Jim replied. “We will look into it, and keep you informed.”

She looked exhausted, nodded, and took the cylinder out to give it back to Harvey.

“Am I not to leave town?”

Jim handed her his card.

“Just tell us where you can be contacted if you do. You're not a suspect, however. Thank you very much for your help today, all the same. This was very... Informative.”

“I hope you can solve your case quickly”, she answered in a quiet voice. “Let me escort you out?”

She brought them to the entrance, shook their hands, and Harvey lagged behind so he could say “So sorry for your loss, ma'am”. They climbed into the car, feeling like they had just left a burial. Harvey emptied his vodka flask in a few gulps.

“So we're digging up Heller's case too, aren't we?”

“I guess we are. God, that poor woman.”

Jim's phone rang, and it felt like a relief. He answered as quickly as he humanly could.

“Gordon?”

“Hey. This is Cat. I would normally not call because none of my business, really, but you should come and check on Barbara. Like, now. She's not doing so well.”

 

###

 

Jim knocked on Barbara's door at five in the evening and left at nine, passing next to an aloof but very worried Selina and an intrigued Ivy.

“She's in bed”, he said. “Don't leave tonight.”

He didn't wait for their answer, and walked to the door, to the elevator, to the parking lot, to his car, and kicked it. Then he punched the roof once or twice for good measure, raked his hands through his hair, and stood there shaking for a few minutes. When he felt that he had calmed down enough to drive without killing himself, he took off for Leslie's apartment, where the kitchen was small and the living room dark, and where he  _liked_ the bedroom, especially after sleeping in it every night for three weeks. He felt at  _home_ there.

He still walked in with such a look on his face that Leslie instantly blanched.

“Jim? What's wrong?”

“I-” he started, and couldn't go on.

Leslie joined him and wrapped her arms around him and he  _had_ to move away before he lost his resolve, so he did.

“We. I. We are over”, he said. “I. Am sorry. I-I had news and... I'm sorry, I have to. I. Barbara... Barbara is pregnant.”

There, it was said.

What had Harvey advised him again? “You pick one. You stick to your choice. You pick the one who is right for you. I know of your hero complex”. Why couldn't it be that simple?

Leslie looked at him in absolute disbelief, at first, then panic. And pain.

“Jim, please think this through. You don't ha-”

_Don't listen, don't listen, don't listen_ .

“I have to do this. I. Can't. I can't leave her alone now, not like that. Not with a child. It's different with a child. I... Leslie, I'm so sorry. I have to do this.”

“ _No you don't!_ ” she mouthed, and he knew that he had to get away if he wanted to stand by his decision, because it was hard enough without someone speaking sense into his head.

So he pushed her back, softly but firmly, and apologized again, and fled.

 

###

###


	2. Meds

“And we have a nice, regular heartbeat here. And here's a leg, and... Here is the head.”

Barbara barely refrained from sobbing. Her teeth were chattering. Her gynaecologist looked at her with an expression she would have expected from a fireman dealing with live explosives. 'Fragile. Handle with care. Try not to blow everything up'.

She attempted to breathe in. It took her a few tries.

“Barbara”, dr. Piangi said. “What are you on?”

“N-Nothing. _Today_. I-I-I-I didn't know if I c-could take my meds pregnant s-so I thought I'd ask y-you.”

“Anxiolytics?”

She nodded, in a jittery, broken motion.

“Listen. First, you can get clothed”, he told her while wiping the goo on her belly. “Then you'll take one of your pills, and we'll make a list of what you take daily. I have another patient coming in for an ultrasound in a quarter of an hour. My assistant will take care of you while I handle that, she'll run you through a few medical questions. We'll continue this once your medication has kicked in, alright?”

He pointed to the ultrasound machine. Barbara nodded again, went to dress herself, and joined him at his desk. She fumbled through her handbag for her bottle of xanax. 

“Please give me all of the meds?”, the doctor said with a smile. “Easier for me to write down the names. Not exactly the kind of treatment I usually handle.”

She placed the boxes and jars on the table, one by one, two, three, four, five.

“So, what's your dosage for each? Xanax?”

“Four milligrams. A day. I-I... I've needed m-more, though.”

“When did you start?”

“Six m-months ago. We had a b-break-in. I... It's been difficult.”

The polite, warm, managing smile had slipped, replaced by a closed expression, and the man just typed down a few notes on the computer. He opened the bottle, broke a pill in two, and poured her a glass of water.

“This should help.”

She took the pill and drank, and felt relief at the idea of the relief that would come a few minutes later.

“Diazepam?”

“It's so I can s-sleep. One in the evening, one during the night if I w-wake up. I often w-wake up.”

He typed that down.

“Fluoxetine?”

“Eighty milligrams. In the morning. Started at twenty.”

They went over her other pills - the antipsychotic, and another tranquillizer, for emergencies - then the doctor let her put all the boxes and bottles into her bag. Then she admitted to alcoholism and occasional marijuana use.

“Who is your psychiatrist?” he asked.

“I-I don't have one. My GP is treating me. Doctor William Earnshaw, he's our family doctor.”

“I see. We'll see about referring you to a specialist before you leave, alright? You'll need professional supervision in order to properly wean off most of that... Treatment.”

Barbara knew she was terrified, and thus paranoid, but there was no mistaking that hesitation, and the edge under the reassuring, professional tone. He smiled.

“I'll go over a few things with my assistant and then she'll be with you”, he said before disappearing into the next room. Even through the closed door, she could hear him snap “some people should not be allowed to practice.”

The assistant came to fetch her a while later, and took her to another room, where she went over her medical history, and asked every possible question on the ongoing pregnancy. “No, I didn't suspect”. “I was supposed to gain weight with the anti-depressants, but instead I lost six pounds in the last five months”. “No, I didn't worry about my menstrual cycle. Doctor Earnshaw warned me my period could stop with the risperidone”. “I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry”. “I don't know. I don't know. I was on birth control pills”.

After forty minutes or so, the doctor came back, and proceeded to start an ultrasound all over again.

“You'll need to get a blood test. Your companion too. There's some screening I'd like to run.”

He moved the probe across her abdomen, intently looking at the screen. By that point, she felt a bit calmer, and finally managed to get out the words she had came in to say.

“I need an abortion.”

Piangi turned to her, speechless.

“I. Need. Don't even _want_ , _need_ , and abortion. My body is a cesspool. I've been drunk and high from t-the moment the pregnancy started. There's n-no way this baby can be healthy. I c-can't feel it _moving_ , it should be _moving_. I need an abortion.”

The doctor put the probe back in its socket.

“Barbara... I'll need a second opinion on this, since we don't have the date of your last period, but based on the baby's size, I believe it might be too late for that.”

 

### 

 

Jim had not gone back to Barbara's until the morning.

He had been too angry, so angry he knew nothing good could happen if he talked to her, so he had taken a long, exhausting run through the park. He had not slept. 

_Who the hell didn't notice a pregnancy in six months?_

When he had arrived at her apartment, the evening before, it had taken her two hours to stop shaking enough to even formulate the word “pregnancy”. At that point, he knew, because he had found the stick and seen the result. “Yes, yours, c-c-can only b-be yours”. 

_Fuck_ .

This could not end well, and there was nothing he wanted less than this child, except leaving Leslie to go back to Barbara. But the state she was in... She could not be trusted with an infant. She couldn't be trusted with  _herself._

When he had managed to curb his rage a little, he had returned to her place. By then, it was seven AM. Selina had opened the door.

“Dude, she left twenty minutes ago. Couldn't you come back earlier?”

“Where the h... Where did she go?”

“What am I, her sitter? Call her.”

He had called, and her phone was turned off. He did not know what her plans were because they had not discussed them. She hadn't been coherent in the evening, and he had thought he could take things in charge later. So much for that.

So, with Barbara AWOL and nothing better to do, he had driven to work.

“I got the case files for Johann Heller”, Harvey said as he arrived at his desk. “The girl's will take longer, it's an SVU case, Miss Kringle is getting them from their archives.”

“What's the story?”

“The father's case covers both, actually. The girl got raped. Went to SVU, he said she said situation, they couldn't make it stick. The girl broke down and killed herself. The father had cancer, figured he had nothing to lose, so he bought a shotgun and killed the boy.”

“And the cancer caught up with him in Blackgate.”

“Yeah. He had a short sentence, too. The judge was lenient, what with his kid dying the week before he did it.”

“Any link between the girl and Brook? The school, maybe?”

“None so far. I went there, got her yearbook, but we can't cover several hundreds kids to ask them 'did you know that dude', can we? It's not like they would volunteer the information anyway.”

“Any results from the autopsy?”

“Didn't ask yet. Leslie is swamped. She was starting ours ten minutes ago, you might want to go and check. I'll bet she could use some  _distraction_ .”

Jim's stomach twisted and lurched.

“Yeah, I think I'll go check Page's godfather's workplace, see if his story checks out. It's raining, anyway, I guess  _you_ don't want to go out.”

Harvey frowned.

“Alright. Try not to get into a gunfight while you're gone.”

“It's a routine check.”

“Yes, sure. You're you. Don't get into a gunfight.”

They both turned as they heard Sarah's door lock. The blinds were closed.

“Wasn't Alvarez in here?” Jim asked.

“Yeah. Get your mind out of the gutter. They're not doing  _it_ . Sarah adores her husband, she wouldn't cheat. Even if Alvarez has been dipping his boy parts into every available ho.”

“And  _you_ tell me to get my mind out of the gutter.”

Harvey chuckled, absent-mindedly flipping through the yearbook he had brought back. He did a double take.

“What the fuck is  _that?_ ” he exclaimed.

Jim joined him and looked over his shoulder.

Over the picture of a smiling Cadence Heller, in black sharpie, someone had written the word “slut”, and a phone number.

 

###

 

Carlos had entered Sarah's office with a pile of paperwork, his report on his freshly closed case, and news of a new one. He had found her working at her desk, nearly perfectly composed, save for the tears running down her face. She looked determined to ignore them as she was scribbling in a notebook, and didn't react to his arrival. He shut the door.

“Captain?”

She didn't answer, just kept writing. His insides twisted with the urge to ask her 'What happened? Did someone hurt you? Who should I  _kill_ ?'. But, instead, he remained neutral and quietly closed the blinds. He took the chair facing hers and waited.

“Sarah, talk to me”, he said after a few minutes, when she failed to acknowledge his presence.

“Michael left. He's gone, he will have the girls, he left.”

Carlos' first reaction at that was a dark sort of hunger, and he had to refrain from running out to call his wife and tell her 'We're over, we're done, I need to be free'. Goodbye, Michael. Farewell, Michael. Good riddance, Michael. Years, years,  _years_ . 

He didn't show a sign of his thoughts.

“Do you need to talk?” he said softly. 

She sobbed. He stood up and locked the door. Sarah chuckled, humorlessly. 

“They'll think we're having sex.”

“Couldn't care less about the internal rumors”, Carlos said, moving back to his chair. “Is it alright if I work here for a few moments?”

She nodded, because while she did not feel like talking, she clearly needed a presence. He spread his files on the desk and pretended to read them, while she cried in silence. She was still attempting to write. When she gave up on that, he reached out, took her hand, and held it until she calmed down.

 

###

 

Fish never lost track of her debts. Nor did she lose track of who owed her, and she knew when to call upon those who had to pay the price of a service. She waited for her debtor to get into the car, and smiled as he took off his hat.

“Mister Pennyworth. What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Miss Mooney. I wasn't aware you were back in town.”

“I'm not one to let a minor setback chase me away. Still. I'm afraid, in my... Unfortunate position, I have to call upon old friends. I seem to recall having helped you when your son was in need. I'm afraid it is time to return the favor.”

“Is it, now?”

She knew he was not a man to be trifled with. You didn't get eyes that cold by dusting furniture and opening doors. You didn't get Butch to the floor with a blade to his throat like that either. There was only so much she could ask. Pushing him would get him to leave. Threatening him, or his boy, was a foolproof way to end with a blade lodged in her throat. 

“Don't you worry”, she said, patting his knee. “It won't cost you much. I'm aware there are limitations on the size of your paycheck, and that you cannot freely access Master Wayne's trust fund. I think, however, that you have some funds at your disposal to oversee the maintenance of that lovely manor. What I propose is... You hire some of my boys to do some menial tasks. Gardening, maybe? Pool cleaning? They don't even need to show up as long as you get a bill, do they?”

He looked down at her hand, that looked small and disgusting even to Fish without a manicure and her fake nails. She'd have to fix that. Bare hands reminded her of the teenager she had been, and of the work she had to do with them. 

“How much, Miss?” Pennyworth asked.

“Well. We'll have to determine how many men you wish to hire, and for how long, but I believe a total of fifteen thousand dollars should cover my current needs.”

“This with the expectation that no further needs will have to be fulfilled in the future.”

“I can promise you that.”

He breathed in and opened the car door. He was halfway out already when he replied.

“I'll see what can be done.”

 

###

 

Jim parked under the hospital, took a deep breath, and searched for an excuse not to go join Barbara immediately. He pulled out his phone, and the thing provided him with a perfect distraction in the form of a new message from Harvey. He sank into his seat and listened to it.

“Miss Kringle says SVU is sending us that file tomorrow morning, so if I get it before you come in, I'll call whoever was on Cadence Heller's case to see what they can tell me about that yearbook thing. Also, got the autopsy report, nothing new. Leslie and Nygma agree on the weapon being a butterfly knife, seven stab wounds. Forensics say no prints on anything, no hair not belonging to Brook, jack shit. Also I talked to Leslie about not flirting with Ed, 'cause she was letting him play with her bodies. So I tell her 'don't give the kid false hopes, what with you being taken', and she says 'no I'm not'. And she didn't go into detail about that or anything so you'll have to call me back you  _absolute FUCKWIT!_ ”

Maybe delaying Barbara's exam had not been such a good idea after all. He sighed, dragged himself out of the car, and walked to the OB/Gyn service. He found Barbara shaking on her chair in the waiting room, looking paler than a corpse. 

“Hey”, he said, taking the seat next to hers. “I'm glad you called. Tried to come to the apartment in the morning but you were already gone.”

He reached out and took her hand. She didn't turn.

“Yes, I was having an u-ultrasound early in the m-morning. Doctor Piangi was nice enough to free a spot for me.”

Jim blinked, suddenly wondering what he was doing in an obstetrics service at the hospital, if Barbara had already been examined. He felt cold.

“Is there something wrong with the baby?”

Alcohol and drugs did horrors to foetuses. And Barbara... Barbara had not lived carefully those last few months.

“Jim, w-what I wanted to t-tell you was... I... Selina should not have c-called y-y-y... C-called. You. God. I...”

He closed his eyes and tried to forget how he had felt after she left, after she refused to answer his calls for months on end, with a mere note as an explanation. He tried to remember the five years they spent together and how much he had loved her.

“Shh. She was right to call me. Whatever the problem is, we'll go through this together.”

She shook for a few seconds more, then his words seemed to permeate her terror. Her eyes snapped to his.

“What?”

“I said we'll go through this  _together_ .”

And, so she wouldn't mistake his meaning, he tightened his grip on her hand.

“No! No, no, no! What about Leslie?”

His stomach lurched.

“I broke up with Leslie.”

“ _No_ ! I didn't want this! Why would you do THAT?” she snapped.

She quieted as they realized that every happy, expectant parent in the room had turned to them. 

“I didn't want this, I never asked you to do this”, Barbara murmured again to a blindsided Jim. “Why do you think I didn't contact you when I came back? You had  _moved on_ . I backed off!  _I didn't want this._ ”

The world was spinning quite badly, and Jim's ears were ringing. He had not been expecting that. If his life was going to be a disaster, he had hoped to have a modicum of control on it. He had planned for it. 

“Barbara... I'm... I am not going to let you raise a child alone, I loved you, I had to move on because you left, but it does not mean I can't-”

“ _Don't do this to me_ . Do you think I don't love you? Do you think I don't  _want_ to be with you? But not like  _this_ . Not if you're going to resent me forever.  _And why are we even discussing this_ . There will  _not_ be a child to raise. You don't  _have_ to leave your girlfriend over it. I'm here to enquire about an abortion.”

The world stopped spinning. Jim's hand dropped. 

 

###

 

Fish had acquired a little house just outside of town, a small, old place that had little to speak for itself, but had the advantage of being easy to reach through the woods, with a garden entirely encircled with high hedgerows. The neighbours couldn't see inside it, so it was easy to get in through the back door. With thick curtains and textured window film, Fish had all the privacy she needed, and the certitude that no enemies would spot her. 

She had a microphone installed next to each door and window, so she could listen in to the movements around the house from her room in the basement. Right now, she was listening to Harvey, who was standing at the backdoor and calling someone who definitely wasn't her.

“I've been waiting for you to call back for nine hours now, so I assume you  _did_ get into a gunfight and are bleeding out somewhere. If you  _are_ alive, text me to tell me you don't want to talk. Fuckwit.”

So Jim Gordon was still being Jim Gordon. 

She climbed the stairs to the door, and opened it before Harvey could knock.

“What is it you didn't understand about coming here  _discreetly_ ?”

He forgot about his phone and turned to her, with what looked very much like glee. Then he remembered he was annoyed at her and frowned. 

“Fish. I told you not to come back!” he snapped, dragging her inside.

“And I told you I would.”

She pushed the door closed, and guided him through the dark corridor to the stairs to the basement.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes. My men are in town, collecting what intel they can get.”

“So you have men now?”

“Long story. Let's just say my trip to New London was rudely interrupted by human traffickers, and that I had to have a little chat with their leader. You might remember your snatched children case? Well, no more children will be snatched. Some of the hostages needed jobs, after that.”

He raised his eyebrows as if faintly surprised, but she could see him pale even in the dim light of the staircase. They entered the basement, where her bed, necessities, and several crates of weapons were lined against the walls. 

“So I came back”, she said. “Now, did you find Butch?”

He sighed.

“Yeah, bad news on that front. Zsasz got him. Brainwashed him, or so he says. Gilzean has been set to working with Cobblepot in the club, and he's doing that with no protest. The man is not a pussy so I think he might be playing them, but I tried talking to him and he didn't as much as react to your name.”

Oh, that hurt. She took a deep breath.

“Try again. Tell him I'm back in town, see what happens. He's strong.”

“Will do. So, is the plan  _still_ to kill Penguin?”

“Harvey, Harvey, Harvey. When have you ever seen me change my mind?”

“Never too late to learn, right?”

She nudged his chin. 

“Don't be silly, now.”

She had expected a sad smile, but she saw a little  _something_ in his eyes instead, something she kept hoping was gone. Her stomach fluttered.  _Here we go again_ . 

As creative as he was with profanity, Harvey was bad with words. He often had a lot to express and voiced none of it, but if he could talk with his body, he would.  _That_ language of his was easy to get, too. The warm, tentative kiss that meant 'can I?'. The hungrier second kiss, with his arm crushing her against him, that meant 'I fucking missed you'. And then, a while later, as he took her so hard it hurt, 'why do you have to keep doing this?'. All that anger and pain and love built over a decade or so. She let him talk, and moved against him, and gave him his kisses back. 'I'm sorry'.

 

###

 

“Doctor Thompkins wanted me to tell you your autopsy was done”, Edward Nygma announced to Alvarez after appearing - again - out of nowhere. 

Carlos looked up. He never knew if the guy had something more to say or if he was just not aware that he could end a sentence with a 'see you later' and just leave.

“She said I could bring you her report, but that she has something to show you and that you should come as soon as you can.”

“Thank you, Ed.”

He took the file from the young man's hands, and walked down to the morgue.

“Ah! Detective Alvarez. Thank you for joining me so fast. I assume you didn't have the time to browse my report?”

“No. Anything out of the norm?”

“Yes. I extracted a foreign body from your victim. I already tried to call Harvey and Jim about it, but neither of them is answering. They're not in the bullpen, are they?”

“It's ten, I think they might have gone home. Don't tell me...”

Leslie put back some latex gloves and picked a bloody piece of metal from a bowl next to the corpse she had been studying.

“I found this lodged in the man's throat. Considering the bullet wounds to the stomach, there was quite a bit of blood in the mouth, which is why it wasn't noticed during the first exam on the crime scene. I'll have to clean it up.” 

Carlos didn't need for the item to be washed to recognize the shape. He had seen Bullock and Gordon study the first one. It was a pin drum.

 

###

###

 

 

 


	3. Wrong

 “Long night?” Carlos asked when Harvey finally decided to appear at work, at nine in the morning, after having ignored a dozen phone calls.

He looked like a teenage boy caught in the middle of a walk of shame, courtesy of the hickey on his neck. He hadn't changed clothes, either.

“Ran into an old flame. Is Jim alive?”

“Called in sick two hours ago.”

“That fucker! Why are you at his desk?”

“Because I'm now on your case. Turn out my gunshot victim from yesterday could be another kill by your music box unsub. Thompkins found one of those cylinder things.”

“Oh Jesus Christ Fucking no”, Harvey moaned.

“Yeah, I don't like you much either, get over it.”

“It's not _that_. It means I'm going to have to go to that nice old lady again and tell her it wasn't a random thing.”

“You'll have to be a bit clearer than that. I've been trying to make sense of your notes, but seems like there's a lot to take in between the Page family and the Hellers.”

“Do you have the second pin drum?”

Carlos got the bag out of the evidence box and gave it to the other cop. He looked at it for a moment, putting on his reading glasses.

“Shit.”

“Harvey. Sit down. Explain.”

“Those things were handmade by a teenage girl who was raped ten years ago and killed herself after it happened. Sad story, her dad went and shot the rapist, died in prison three years later. Anyway. Her mom is a sweet little old lady, very obviously totally heartbroken, and we're going to have to go and borrow one of the music boxes that can read the cylinders. The woman is not half stupid, so she'll get that we found another corpse. She kind of went through enough already, linking her dead kid to a string of murders? That's just cruel.”

Carlos sighed.

“I've read your victim's file. I take it the music was related to his story?”

“Yeah, stalker anthem for a stalker. What's your guy?”

“Emmanuel Ronaldo, double murder, shot his ex and her new husband as they came home from their honeymoon. Got a temporary release for the burial of his father, vanished for six months. Then we find his body in an alley of the industrial district.”

Harvey stood and started moving the files around.

“Did Miss Kringle bring something before I arrived?”

Carlos gave him the file he was looking for, and let him read it in peace. The man didn't skip a page, and lifted his head when he was done.

“You have friends in the special victims units, don't you? Reyes is the one who ODed last spring, right?”

“Yeah.”

“McGuire?”

“Uh, retired. Won't get anything of him either, they had to basically kick him out. Dementia. Montoya kept whining about him not doing any kind of work before she transferred to MCU.”

“Fuck. Well, not the most urgent thing to do. Check what our victims had in common, and hope you find something, because if they don't, we may have a vigilante. I'll go and get that music box.”

 

###

 

Harvey had left another message.

“So apparently you are alive, and I'm starting to find adjectives for you that are way less flattering than fuckwit. Don't make me come after you.”

Jim hung up.

 

###

 

Confidence went a long way.

Fish had found out early in life that the higher you held your chin, the less people argued about your position. It had served her well when she walked away from her father, and even better when the old bastard called her back to his side as leukemia was finishing him off. She had barely been able to believe his nerve. She had been tempted to press a pillow to his face so he would die by her hand as he deserved, but remembered just in time that the cancer was going to torture him to the end. She had found great joy in taking away his morphine, while playing the dutiful, loving daughter when Don Falcone was visiting. “My father told me so much about you. You have been such a good friend to him in his time of need”. Carmine terrified her back then, but she had never let him see it.

Facing Salvatore Maroni and half a dozen of his henchmen in his own restaurant was not reassuring, especially with only two of her own men in the room, but she had faced worse odds. She lifted her chin.

“All I want is Penguin. I will provide all the information I can recall about Falcone's business, where he keeps his books, his sources of income, everything I have.”

“Now what I want to know”, Sal answered, “is why I would trust a conniving, lying, backstabbing bitch like you.”

“You don't have to trust me. Just to give me the means to get to Penguin, since it is very clear to me that you can't. What did Carmine give you for his life? Must have been quite a price, considering how the little rat betrayed you.”

“It was a satisfactory arrangement.”

Fish took some time to cut her meat into neat little dices.

“You'll still be happy to see him suffer, won't you? And it turns out that if I kill him, Falcone will never link it to you. It's not like he doesn't know that I have unresolved business with that oily little cunt of a snitch.”

“Yes, everyone knows that. I have to admit, when you came in all those months ago with your speech about respect and snitches get stitches, I was all 'Is she on her rag or is that her normal level of crazy?'. Turns out the boy is really an irritating piece of shit, who knew? By the way, what's so important about Indian Hill?”

“I have no idea. No one has a clue. Trust me, I have investigated that shitty piece of land, in and out. It's a card Carmine plays close to the chest.”

“Yeah, so it sounds to me like you don't know much I can't find out otherwise.”

“Come on, you know you want to see the boy die. I'll make you one my nice videos. I know you might not like _my_ kinks”, she said, caressing the blade of her knife with the tip of a finger, “but I can throw in a teeth pulling scene.”

“Alright, I'll indulge you. A _little_ only. What do you need?”

 

###

 

“Jimbo, I swear if I have to come and fetch you, I will fuck you up. _Please_ call me and tell me what's wrong.”

 

###

 

Alvarez came back from his lunch break to find Harvey holding a little pink music box. His expression was dark and intent, and he didn't react to his arrival. He just kept turning the crank on the side of the box, and then listened to the tune it played.

“I know this song”, he muttered. “Do you? I can't place it. I think it might be the Beatles.”

Carlos focused on the melody, and frowned.

“I think you might be right. It sounds like something I know. A bit off tune, maybe. And too slow.”

“Yeah, Cadence's mother said not all of the pieces were well done. She made them as a kid.”

“If it's the Beatles, someone here will know the song. Let's just ask around?”

Twenty minutes later, Collins had identified the song. Thirty minutes later, someone had unearthed a tape with its box and the lyrics booklet.

“'You better run for your life if you can, little girl'”, Harvey read. “'Hide your head in the sand, little girl. I catch you with another man, that's the end, little girl'. Our guy killed his ex when she remarried, you said?”

Carlos nodded, grim. The older man sighed.

“I swear, this city and the fucking weirdos... Can't we have some normal murders once in a while? I bet you found nothing to link the two victims?”

“Nothing. No, we might really have a vigilante on our hands. Why he would focus on that young girl and her work, though...”

“Maybe he thinks she's an example of crime going unpunished. Maybe it's a she, too, because Cadence sold those boxes to school _girls_. We need to find out more about her case. I assume you've seen the yearbook, by that point.”

Alvarez nodded.

“Ask her _mother_. I don't care if she's sweet and fragile, it's a lead, and that's your job. And, as far as I'm concerned, we'll also need to find out where she was when the crimes were committed, because she seems like an obvious suspect to me.”

Bullock discarded that idea with a shake of the head.

“She's not the kind.”

“I don't care what your gut feeling tells you, Harvey, we still have to check.”

“Well _that_ shouldn't be that hard”, the other man snapped, getting mean. “She sells valuables, there's a security camera every two steps in that shop.”

“I'll get the tapes, then.”

“You do that. You try not to be an asshole as you ask.”

 

 

###

 

Every time Jim closed his eyes, all he could see was the black and white image of his son’s profile on the tiny screen of the ultrasound machine. When he opened them, the bright light of the afternoon sun burned a hole through his sleep-deprived brain. A son. There would be no abortion, first because they were past the legal limit, then because he would not have stood for it, not after hearing the heartbeat and seeing those feet and face and everything else so clearly _human_. It had been easy to think the child couldn’t be more than a tiny blob of cells, with Barbara who didn’t look like she had gained weight, with the state she was in. But the ultrasound… No, Jim wouldn’t have stood for an abortion.

It meant that, once again, he was going to have carry the weight of a mentally ill person. Probably two, if the baby had been hurt by Barbara’s substance abuse, and the list of disabilities and health issues that could result from _that_ was very, very long. After holding the hand of his sick mother for five intolerable years, he didn’t think he could do it again. Barbara’s drinking and smoking had been tolerable while they were together, because it wasn’t _that_ bad - not after having lived with the drunken party boy his brother had been through their teenage years - and because she was steadily getting better, until the Zsasz thing. But now? He could barely recognize her behind the shaking and fear. He knew most of it could be blamed on her pills, but she had _still_ let herself fall that low.

He didn’t want to have to hold her hand through that. He had tried to go to her in the morning anyway, but she didn’t want to see him. Selina had been the one to open the door and to slam it in his face. That was was a very nice start to a newly resumed engagement.

He had driven away, considered going to work, but had ended up parking a block from there to attempt to sleep in his car. That had been quite a few hours before. He was still awake.

Harvey called again. Jim ignored the ringtone, and checked his messages after a few minutes.

“We’ll have to talk about the case, kiddo. Dunno if you got the news from Alvarez or Essen, but we have a new stiff with the same MO. Plenty of shit to do, like talk to Mrs. Heller if Alvarez doesn’t deal with it, maybe check with the girl’s school, not to mention talk to everyone who ever knew the victim of our new victim, _again_. Also, I need your help with a personal matter. Also, turn right.”

Jim turned right to find Harvey standing a few steps away, leaning against his own car. The man dropped his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it.

“Don’t you look like death warmed over”, he commented as he opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “What the fuck, Jim?”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Were my instructions not _clear_? Pick _Leslie_? Don’t be a hero?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Really? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, it looks stupidly simple.”

“Barbara is pregnant.”

“How’s that complicated? What do you think alimony is for, you dipshit?”

“HARVEY, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, SHUT THE HELL UP!”

Much to Jim’s surprise, he did. The younger man pressed his forehead against the driving wheel and panted until he felt calmer. Harvey lit another cigarette and rolled the window down so he could blow the smoke outside, his back turned.

“When did you last sleep?” he asked when Jim finally sat up.

“I don’t remember.”

His partner finished his cigarette. Took his sweet time, too. By the time he threw it out the window, Jim felt somehow guilty about his outburst.

“I’ll explain later. Alright?”

Harvey snorted.

“Alright. Think you can freshen up a bit and unearth some of your dashing good looks? I’m gonna need you to be your best charming self.”

Jim blinked. There was only so much his brain could process in his state of exhaustion.

“What?”

“I need you to butter up that drowned undertaker friend of yours for a few minutes.”

“To what who?” Jim replied, before Harvey's creative visuals superposed with someone's image in his mind. “I'm not going to Cobblepot! I sent him to hell not two months ago and _good riddance._ ”

“Come on, this is important to me. All you'll need to do is flirt with him a little while I pass a message to a friend. I can't get near the club on my own. They're getting suspicious, what with me being Fish's best pal and Penguin not being her number one fan.”

“Do I want to know what that message is and who it is from?”

His partner grinned

“Probably not. Come on, this will be fun.”

 

###

 

Butch absent-mindedly listened to Jim Gordon sweet-talking Penguin, in a very obvious distraction that the little snitch was swallowing as eagerly as he would have sucked the cop's cock. He was drinking it up like ambrosia. You could tell the kid had never been popular in school.

“What I mean”, Gordon was saying, “is that when I ask for your help, if I say no one gets hurt, _no one gets hurt_.”

“O-Of course not. I'll make sure t-to give clearer instructions.”

Laying the blame on his men, why not?

“And no more coming to my _home_ , nor the GCPD. I call you, you call me, we meet some place quiet.”

“A-absolutely. As you prefer, my friend.”

It was nearly entertaining to watch. That being said, most of Butch's attention was focused on _not_ decking Harvey Bullock in the face. That would have blown his cover.

“So he's really completely brainwashed?” the asshole asked, poking his shoulder. “If I ask him to jump, he will?”

“If _you_ do, no”, one of Penguin's men replied.

“Can I try?”

“If you want”, the thug replied in a bored tone. He heard that a lot.

“Jump, Butch.”

Butch didn't move.

“Aw, party pooper. Truth to be told, Gilzean, I never liked you. Pathetic little asswipe that you were.”

He patted his shoulder, twice, then left his hand there.

“You know, pal, there's really a lot of shit I should have told you when you were still, like, a person. Like, what's with the gay ties? Also.”

And he punched him in the gut. Butch nearly keeled over, because if there was one thing Harvey didn't do, it was hold his punches. Son of a bitch. He tried to catch his breath, and the cop hauled him up, patted his shoulder, and adjusted his tie. He felt a square of paper slip between the pans of his shirt. Ah. A message. That could only mean one thing. Fish was back.

Butch's eyes darted to Penguin, just for a split second, as he tried to calculate how many of the boy's men he could take out if he snatched Bullock's gun and started shooting. Four, and he'd have to start with the little piece of shit. But Harvey had followed his eyes. He stepped back to “admire the results”, putting his weapon out of reach.

“Man, that felt good”, he said.

Penguin had turned and was chuckling.

Gordon rolled his eyes.

“Harv', I swear, do you have to act like a five years old? Come on, we're leaving.”

Butch watched them go, endured Oswald's relentless mockery, and waited a whole hour to go to the bathroom. He unfolded the note, memorized the hour and address Harvey had written down, and flushed it.

 

###

 

Jim woke up on Harvey's sofa at seven in the evening, after three hours of sleep. The first thing he saw was his partner's back. The man was sitting at his kitchen table and cleaning his gun. The first thing Jim wanted to was to walk to him, and put his hands on his shoulders to massage them.

_Jesus, isn't your life fucked up enough as it is?_

He sat up, rubbed his face, and took a better look at the place. It was, as he had vaguely noted when they arrived, a mess. Dirty laundry was piled up next to the bathroom door. Bottles were lined up on every table and shelf, some empty, some half-full. A clothesline crossed the room, covered in laundry that had probably finished drying a century before. Some potentially clean clothes were littering the floor under it, where they had fallen. TV magazines with dates ranging from the current week to two years before were strewn over the coffee table, along with a few tapes, some of them pornographic.

Shameless bastard. Jim chuckled.

“We're having that talk”, Harvey said without turning. “Come here.”

Jim complied and joined him. A shotgun was laying on the kitchen table, along with a second handgun. Harvey placed the first weapon next to them.

“I take it you're in trouble?” Gordon said. “What was that with Gilzean?”

“I owe him.”

It was clear from his face that no further explanations would come, so Jim didn't push. He put a hand on his shoulder, and noticed a hickey on his throat. He was reaching out to brush it before he could even think. Harvey froze and grabbed his hand to push it down and away, a look of cold bewilderment on his face. Jim felt as shocked as he was. _Why would you go and do that?_

Harvey released his hand and turned back to the table with his best “this didn't happen” expression. Jim went with it, and took a seat. His partner lit a cigarette.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah, thanks. Thinking a bit clearer, too.”

“So, what's the story?”

And Jim told him, about the pregnancy, and the abortion that would not happen, and Barbara not noticing until it was too late because she had been using, and how they were going to marry so her parents wouldn't freak out.

“I'm keeping my flat. We'll start by dating, try to rebuild a bit. Lots of problems to solve. We'll see. But it _can_ work, provided she stops with the meds and the drinking. I know you only ever heard of Barbara when there was trouble, but we had five whole years of being _happy_ with each other. It was _good_.”

“When she left you, she went to Montoya's. Spent days there.”

Jim received that like a blow to the gut. He felt physically hurt.

“ _Why would you tell me that?_ ” he shouted when he managed to breathe again. “I didn't need to _know_!”

Harvey was quiet and detached when he replied.

“Yes you did.”

“How do you even _know_ that?”

“I had a PI tail her when you told me she had left. Thought Zsasz would try to get to her. You didn't see his face when Falcone said he wouldn't kill you, the guy looked like he'd been cockblocked.”

Jim sunk into his chair, sick to not have thought of that.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. And I stand by my opinion, don't be a hero, don't fucking go back to her.”

“It's not just Barbara. It's the kid. Joke about alimony as you wish, but you didn't see her. She's not well. She won't be able to take care of a child”, he explained. He sighed. “She's seeing a psychiatrist tomorrow, I think, about getting off her meds. She has started weaning off, but it's only been... God I have no clue if it's one or two days.”

Harvey crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and lit another.

“No more comments?” Jim asked.

“Nope. Your mind is set, ain't it?” the older man answered, picking his weapons up.

“Can I come with you?”

“Don't be an idiot, you're dead on your feet. Go back to sleep. Anyway, I'm just delivering that shit. You're the one who walks into gunfights alone.”

 

###

###


	4. Bridge over troubled water

Cat paced across the apartment, trying to calm her nerves. She'd have loved to take a run on the roofs, but she couldn't leave now, not with Barbara in that state. She had to settle for jumping around, doing backflips inside, and playing with the treadmill she had found in a closet.

She had tried to take care of Barbara. At first, she had tried to offer help. “Are you hungry?”, “Do you want soup? I can make soup”, “Do you want me to change the channel?”. She had quickly understood that confronting the woman with any kind of choice was a mistake. It sent her into fits of terror. Withdrawal was a bitch. So Cat had prepared soup, ordered Barbara to eat it, and changed the channel, and decided everything else from that point forward.

When the intercom rang, she sent Ivy to answer it.

“Have you ordered pizza?” the girl shouted from the entrance.

“Nope!”

“Has Barbara?”

“Nope!”

“There's a delivery guy who wants money for pizza nobody ordered!”

Cat frowned and walked to the balcony, and saw a blue bike parked well below. It looked like one of Domino's, but it was hard to tell.

“Ask the name he's delivering to?”

There was a pause.

“Herman!”

Selina hesitated. It could be a trap, though she didn't think Jim Gordon was pissing the Families off this week. That being said, if shit happened, Ivy couldn't get Barbara out through the roofs. She ran to the kid and gave her quiet instructions.

“That's the third floor people. Just... Just go down, show him the stupid way. If he looks like he wants to come up here, you punch him in the throat like I showed you.”

“'Kay.”

Ivy went out, and Selina raced to the window to check what was happening. She heard a rattle at the door and raced back. Whoever it was had a key. Jim, then. She opened the door, was surprised to find herself face to face with Harvey Bullock, but she figured he could get the same treatment as Gordon.

“Go. Away”, she snapped, slamming the door.

He blocked it with his arm and didn't even flinch when it ended up crushed. Instead, he pushed the door open and grabbed Cat by the collar. He lifted her effortlessly.

“Why is it that whenever shit happens, you have to be there?” he said, rolling his eyes.

He dropped her when she started to kick and flail, and pointed to the door.

“Lock that, you don't want that redhead friend of yours to walk in on me. I kind of shot her father dead.”

She didn't wait to be asked twice. Fuck.

“Here's what you're going to do. You pack up Barbara's pajamas - nothing slutty, the good old grandma flannel stuff - and her toothbrush and shit. If you can't find any, I'll give you fifty bucks to go buy some.”

“Why the hell?”

“'Cause she's not staying here in the state I suspect she's in. Now move your ass.”

Cat frowned, but he just walked away to go find Barbara, who was shivering on a sofa in the other room. She found a new respect for the man when she heard him say, in a soft voice:

“Alright, I know you must be terrified. I know the feeling. Now you just listen to me, things will be fine, I know what to do.”

 

###

 

“Six months pregnant, benzodiazepines and alcohol withdrawal”, Harvey - no, _Detective Harvey Bullock_ \- told the E.R. staff. “I would be very grateful if you could get her admitted, like, now, and very quietly.”

He didn't sound threatening, and his smile was polite, but he had still shown his badge. She clutched his arm.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”

He patted her hand.

“It's my understanding one of your lady doctors recommended that without forcing the issue”, he was explaining to the nurses, “but I don't think he knew how bad this would get. My friend was to meet with doctor Ashton in your psych department tomorrow morning.”

A few hours of blood tests and questioning went by before Barbara finally ended up in an hospital bed, and she had lost track of what the perfusion was for and what had been done to her exactly. She felt tired to the bone, but not nearly as terrified as before.

“You okay?”, Bullock asked as he entered the room. “They pulled a nice vanishing trick here, you were harder to find than a murder suspect.”

“I’m better. Thank you so much. I… I was stuck in a loop, I think.”

“I know, been there. Not with fancy prescription drugs, mind ya, but…”

He waved his hand, sat on the window sill and got a little metallic vial out of his coat. ‘Oh’, Barbara thought as he took a few sips. She should not have been surprised, she knew he drank. Jim had complained about it at the beginning of their partnership, before they became friends.

“Now, important thing. Every opportunity you get, you mention ‘the dad is a cop’. ‘My companion is a detective’. ‘Works for the GCPD’. You drill that into their mind, before you start getting real unpleasant visits.”

Barbara blanched.

“Child protective services?”

“Yeah, I think they might have been called in already. So pull the cop dad card if you don’t want them waiting in the delivery room when the kid pops out of your coochie.”

She cringed.

“I don’t have favors to call in on that side”, he continued, “but I’ll see if the friend of a friend can help me there.”

“Thank you. Again. You’re a good man.”

He snorted.

“Guess I’ve been called worse.”

She smiled, then remembered a very important question and darkened again.

“Where is Jim?”

“Last time I saw him he was napping on my sofa, with no keys, no car, and a dead phone. I thought the most efficient way to get you help would be to keep him away. No offense to Jim, but I don’t think he slept a wink in two days and he was acting even stupider than usual.”

Barbara chuckled at the sadly humorous truth in that. She reached for a glass of water and tried to relieve her parched throat. She craved for whatever was in that flask of his, but _no_. She choked at Bullock’s next words.

“I swear I don’t know if I want to wrap my hands around the man’s cock or around his throat.”

Barbara coughed and sputtered. _Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwhat?_ She looked at him, bewildered, still trying to catch her breath. He snickered, in a way that was more childish than mean.

“You-” she gasped.

There was an admission in his joke, something she couldn’t quite analyze the depth of in the state she was in. But he was neither angry nor hostile. That was reassuring. He smiled, lit a cigarette, and opened the window so he could keep his hand outside.

“You want Jim”, she said in a tone that was still surprised when she finally managed to stop coughing.

“First you call me a good man, now this? Are you done insulting me, kiddo? Do I look like a moron? I don’t _want_ him. I just happen to think he’s not terrible to look at.”

But he wouldn’t have joked about it, wouldn’t have let her know about it if he _really_ did not, right?

 _You can have him_ , she thought. _I bet he wouldn’t walk all over you._

Except she couldn’t be a nice person and walk away, now, even if she knew that no matter how much she loved and wanted Jim, they could only hurt each other. She could get sober but she could not get sane, could she? Not fast enough to be a mother to her child. _He_ would need a parent with a spine, not a wrecked ball of nerves hiding from the monsters in her head.

“Hey, kid, you stop your worrying now”, Bullock said, dropping his cigarette into the void. He walked to her and patted her cheek. “You just relax, sleep it out, and decide nothing until you’re clean. I’ll make sure Jim doesn’t go and bully you - or himself - into stupid shit.”

“He’s just trying to do the right thing, you know? We both are… For the baby.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware. From my side of things, it’s like watching a dumbassery competition, just so you know.”

She looked at him, indignant, then realized that… Yes, he had a point. She started chuckling, feeling so weary and broken up.

“My god, aren’t our lives messed up.”

Harvey snorted.

“Want messed up? I’m an alcoholic, I suspect my liver is shot, the love of my life is a fallen crime boss and most of my friends are prostitutes. And yet I’m here fixing someone _else’s_ problems like I fucking know better.”

Barbara tried really hard not to laugh. She failed. He patted her cheek again.

 

###

 

“We are out and it's dark and tomorrow is a _school day_ ”, Anna announced with glee as they exited the cinema.

Sofia snorted in disgust, and Sarah gave her a handkerchief, which earned her a look of pure hatred. It stung. Well, the teenager-style tantrum didn't, but the knowledge that the little girl was angry because she was wounded did. She put her hand on her daughter's shoulder, and started walking away from the theater's door

“Do you want to go grab some dessert before I drive you back to Nana's? I bet we can find pancakes.”

Anna lit up.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yesyesyesplease!”

“I want pizza”, Sofia said, probably because it seemed to her it would be the one food that couldn't be obtained in the same establishment as pancakes.

“What about we try pancakes today, and pizza Friday?” Sarah proposed, in the vain hope that her eldest would relent.

No such luck.

“I don't want your stupid  _pancakes_ ! Nana  _makes us_ pancakes in the morning. She actually  _cooks_ and all.”

“I'm sure she does. And I'm sure that you remember the last time I attempted to prepare something more complicated than cereal. What was it? The waffles?”

“The wallfles”, Anna corrected with a grin. “Daddy said bricks weren't part of the recipe but you wouldn't listen.”

_Thank you, Cupcake. Never stop being that sunny._

“Exactly. If your dad hadn't been there to feed the three of us, we'd all have died of poisoning by now. Come on, let's find a place...”

“I want  _pizza_ .”

Sarah stared at Sofia, who glared back. It was strange to see Michael's darkest look on her face, it had always been. The girl had Sarah's face and her curls, but the temper? Her father's, entirely. Not that Michael wasn't sweet and kind most of the time, but god forbid you hit the wrong spot. He was the king of the baleful glare. Sofia was the princess.

“But I really want pancakes”, Anna said in her saddest voice.

Sarah caved and pushed them inside the Italian restaurant across the street.

“Are pancakes on the menu?” she discretely asked the waiter after she had pushed the two kids on the closest chairs.

He shook his head and apologized. She took her wallet out.

“I'll give you and the cook fifty dollars  _each_ if you make pancakes happen.  _Please_ .”

Pancakes happened. So did pizza. Sofia ate in sullen silence while her sister babbled about her day and the animated movie they had seen earlier. Sarah's phone kept vibrating, and she kept ignoring it. She waited until she had left the girls at their grandmother's home to check her messages. Four missed calls, all of them from Carlos. She called him back.

“What is happening?” she asked, weary.

“Sorry for disturbing you while you were with your kids, but it couldn't be helped. We have a third body from our music box perp.”

 

###

 

“This one is a John Doe, we're running his prints”, Carlos explained to Sarah as she joined him and Leslie Thompkins at the morgue. “Stabbed like the first one, as you can see, and I checked the song, it's 'light my fire'. So I'm betting on an arsonist for this one.”

A serial killer. A vigilante.

“Has the press gotten hold of that yet?”

“I didn't leak it, but it will get out. You know like I do the press is greasing some hands in the precinct to get juicy stories like that.”

Sarah groaned.

“Where is Harvey?”

“Vanished in the middle of the afternoon. Called me to say he had to drive a friend to the hospital. That might just be true. Usually, he doesn't bother giving excuses.”

“Did you try to call Jim?”

“Yes, straight to voicemail.”

She started to turn to Leslie, but Carlos kicked her foot and ever-so-slightly shook his head. The ME kept sorting her instruments, unusually tense. There was no sign of a smile on her face.  _Gordon, what have you done now?_

“Tell me  _you_ worked the case?”

“Yeah. I went to talk to Agnes Heller. Didn't quite get the opportunity to discuss her daughter, but I checked her security tapes. She was in the store during the first two murders, so was her employee. She was even speaking with a customer when the first murder occurred, if the timestamps are right, and I have the guy's name from his check(. She's clear. I'm having her come in tomorrow, though. Hopefully either Gordon or Bullock will be there by that point.”

Leslie started cleaning the room and locking the cupboards, getting ready to go home. She had flinched at the mention of Jim.

“I'll be typing down my report before leaving, captain”, she announced. “Anything else you need?”

Sarah smiled.

“No, thank you. Just go home before another dead person pops in, that report can wait for the morning. Carlos, can I see  _your_ files?”

He nodded, and brought her to his desk, where she immediately asked what was happening with Jim and Leslie.

“He broke up with her, and that's all I could get. She gets snappy about it but she's really trying to keep the whole thing quiet. I'm not her friend, it's not like I can pry.”

“We finally get a good ME and he has to go and ruin it. And I don't like to gossip, but is he crazy? He's not finding another woman like her.”

She paused.

“How does she react to the mention of Harvey?”

“She still likes Harvey. I checked.”

“Well at least there's that. What are your plans, aside from interrogating Mrs. Heller?”

“We were planning to hit the girl's school, see what we get about her friends. I have a feeling the mother isn't going to be very talkative. If she doesn't close up the second she understands we're looking for someone who only goes after bad guys, I'll be very surprised.”

 

###

 

Butch arrived to number six, Park Street at four in the morning, and waited. There was no one to be seen, but he knew Bullock was watching from somewhere, checking for concealed enemies. He had waited twenty minutes when the barrel of a gun pushed against his neck.

“Hey there”, Harvey said. “Regular precaution, I'm gonna have to ask you to hand me all of your weapons. I hope you won't mind if I collect them myself.”

“You took your bloody sweet time.”

“Yeah, well, there's  _one_ detective who enjoys shooting contests with Victor Zsasz and it's not me.”

Gilzean shivered, which would have been bad enough if Harvey hadn't been patting him down for weapons. Maybe he wouldn't have noticed in the darkness, but with direct contact, he could hardly miss it. The cop didn't comment, and collected three guns and two knives.

“Shall we go? It's been a long day, I'd like to catch up on my lost sleep and all”, he said once he was done.

“Lead the way. How is she?”

“Herself”, Harvey replied, walking away from the building.

Butch followed him.

“You got her out of town?”

“Yeah, don't know why I bothered. You okay? For what it's worth, she sent me to rescue you. It's not on her that I didn't.”

“Don't tell me you tried?”

“Of course I did! I told her I would. And you know me, I give my word, I keep it or die trying.”

“I don't know, you look quite healthy right now.”

“Hey, she didn't give me a deadline! Plus, you seemed quite fine at the club, and I couldn't tell if you were playing Penguin or not. Wasn't gonna mess your plans up.”

He stopped next to a car, climbed into it, and leaned over the passenger side to unlock the door.

“So, do you have a master plan?” he asked when Butch sat next to him.

“Yeah, being next to the kid so I can drag his limping ass to Fish when she asks me to. Little piece of shit that he is. Not that he isn't fun to mess with. Ego issues the size of Kansas and the nerves of an old lady with Parkinson's.”

Bullock started driving, and focused on the road for a moment. Gilzean looked out the window.

“So how did you go and get Gordon to come and distract him? Pandering to criminals is not really his thing.”

“Insomnia will do baaaad things to your convictive abilities.”

“Cognitive.”

“To your  _thinking process_ , fuck you, Gilzean. I should have hit you harder.”

“Well you could have, but then I would have bashed your skull open.”

“Glad to see we're still pals. Anyway, I did it because Cobblepot has a fetish for humiliation, couldn't see any other way he'd let me near you.”

“He has his... Moments. To be honest, I don't always know if I should hate him or pity him. He's fucked up but he's still a lost kid, in part. He has those afternoon chats with Zsasz, discussing the best ways to stab people without killing them... And then you meet his mother and you tell yourself 'that guy never had a chance'.”

“I'll just let you deal with all the feelings stuff. I'm fine with 'that guy Jim nearly got me killed for'.”

Butch clicked his tongue, and thought of Fish, who did that a lot. That kept him silent for the rest of the ride. After a quarter of an hour, Bullock parked in the middle of crumbling suburbia. They got out, and Butch's eyes drifted to the dark spot on his neck. The person who had left that bite mark was no big mystery. He ground his teeth. Harvey rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, why is everyone fixating on that thing? And you don't get to play the jealous guy, with that silly pining thing you do.”

“I don't see what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. You stand to her side for what, nearly a decade now not saying a word ? That's just sad, and it sure doesn't earn you the right to get all offended when she fucks someone else.”

Butch clenched his teeth a little harder.

“Seriously”, Harvey continued, guiding him behind the houses and across a small path between the hedgerows and the woods, “she likes you too - in case you didn't know - so go on and kiss the girl.”

“I thought you of all people knew not to get involved in other people's business.”

“Yeah, well, it's my fixing things day”, the cop said, entering the garden of a small, ruined house.

Butch snorted, and followed him to the back door. After a few moments, it opened on Fish Mooney. As Harvey was really an irritating person and deserved to be messed with, Butch grabbed her and kissed her hard.

 

###

###

 

 


	5. Don't let me be misunderstood

Jim woke up cold, reached for Leslie’s warm form, and fell from the sofa. He jumped to his feet, in a panic - _whereamIwhereismygun_ \- then realised he was not in some camp in the desert, nor in the basement of some crime lord, but in Harvey’s flat. He took a deep breath and sunk back into the sofa, picking up the fleece blanket that had appeared on him while he was sleeping.

He could hear the shower running, meaning Harvey was home, without waking him up. _Fantastic alertness, that_ , Jim told himself. He checked the time. It was eight. He had slept like a stone through the night. His thoughts were clearer, the pieces of the last two days slowly sorting themselves up in his mind.

He crossed his arms on his knees and rested his forehead on them.

The bathroom door opened.

“You stop your wallowing”, Harvey ordered as he walked past him, reaching down to lift his head up by the hair.

Jim groaned and sat up, then watched the man inspect his clothesline. He was barefoot, pants unbuttoned, wearing an undershirt that was damp in the back, both from Harvey’s undried skin and the droplets of water running down from his wet hair. He had never seen him sleeveless before, or maybe he had never paid attention. The sight chilled him, that tissue of scars, gunshot wound at the shoulder, another on the forearm, burns and cuts, and a long, jaggy line from wrist to elbow on his left arm.

Harvey picked a shirt and slipped into it.

“We have a new victim, new pin drum, Alvarez is working it. Mrs. Heller is coming in this morning, so let’s not be late.”

Jim took that in. His partner kept talking.

“Also, I got Barbara admitted to Gotham General, you’re welcome.”

“You _what_?”

He had gone so blind with rage that that he only realized he had moved when Bullock reeled back from his shove. The older man stared at him, unfazed.

“I got Barbara admitted to the hospital”, he repeated, in his ‘and what are you gonna do about it?’ tone.

“ _That was none of your damn business!_ ”

“Still had to be done, and it didn’t look like it was gonna happen, so what was I to do? She’s out of her mind and you don’t have one, so _someone_ had to do the thinking.”

“You _fucking_ -”

Harvey shoved him, in one hard push that toppled him. He fell back against the wall, breath knocked out of his chest.

“That’s enough”, Bullock shouted. “I didn’t call you out on your bullshit yesterday because you were clearly in shock, but now is the time to man up and to drop the drama queen act.”

He dragged him to the sofa and held him down.

“How is it that you’re so much smarter than I am and yet you have no sense?”

Jim would have snapped something sharp to that, but Harvey had dropped his aggressive stance. He looked resigned. His hands stayed on Jim's shoulder, one thumb idly rubbing the crease above his clavicle.

“I need you to think”, the older man muttered “You're not an idiot. Drop the rage and the pain and think of the state you found Barbara in. Then tell me what was wrong with her.”

The blonde took a shivering breath. She had been shaking and afraid and incoherent for the most part, skin sallow, teeth chattering. Then he thought of her circumstances, of the bottles of alcohol he had seen on the tables of her apartment, of the boxes of pills, of the decidedly less legal drugs he had found hidden behind the cleaning supplies when he had tried to find the pot he could smell in her bedroom, the night of her panic attack.

He had blamed her state on the drugs, when all signs pointed to the absence of them.

“Withdrawal. Bad withdrawal.”

Harvey patted his cheek.

“Good boy. What do you say now?”

“Thank you, I guess?”

“You _guess_?”

“Thank you, Harvey”, Jim said with heartfelt gratitude.

_For having my back, always_ .

The hand that had been patting his cheek cupped it, and pushed his chin up, a rough thumb brushing against his cheekbone. He stopped breathing. Then -  _too soon_ \- Harvey moved away.

“Take a shower, then we'll see about dropping by the hospital before we go to work.”

Jim nodded, and did just that.

 

###

 

Fish had to admit some things could still surprise her. Butch being one of them, apparently.

After ten years knowing a man - the first few as a hireling, then as a reserved, closest-yet-not-so-close friend - you became used to the dynamics of a relationship. It wasn't that that kiss had come out of nowhere, she wasn't blind. She had just thought the opportunity had come and gone years before.

It was Harvey's doing. The bastard had even winked at her after she had pushed Butch inside the house. He was  _so_ proud. She had grimaced, and mouthed “I will  _kill_ you”, and his reaction had been a cheeky grin, and that low rumble of a laugh he did when he tried to be quiet. What his eyes were saying had been “I know better”. 

She had briefed Gilzean with no further comment, just a brief caress to his tight to let him know she was not rejecting him, but she had work to do. He couldn't risk a prolonged absence either, and Harvey's presence was an issue. She could hardly send the cop away, seeing how he had to drive Butch back to town.

So she had let them leave without mentioning the matter of the kiss, and put it to the back of her mind. It wouldn't be discussed until she found some time alone with Gilzean, and  _that_ would not happen until they found a way to extract Penguin from the protection of his men. “Gabe”, Butch had insisted, was a dangerous man. 

Butch returned to her house four hours after leaving it. As she didn't expect him, he met the barrel of a gun first.

“That. Was. Careless”, she scolded once she recognized him.

He chuckled.

“Oh come on! What man could walk away?”

“You could compromise everything”, she answered, frowning, tense, and flattered.

He smiled, fully knowing he had won.

“I'm not joking!” she insisted.

His grin grew larger.

“Do you need me to list all the risks you have taken by coming back here?”

“Fish.”

She took a deep, annoyed breath, not to admit to losing, but she let him kiss her.

“Here, happy now?” she snapped.

Not that it curtailed his amusement, on the contrary.

“Actually, I think we can do better.”

“Do you now?”

Why was it that the men she had wrapped around her finger the most were the less obedient? He pushed her against the wall and kissed her again, hungry and warm and wanting more. Her dress moved up, his pants down, and it was over and done in a matter of minutes. It had been enough for her to notice the tremors in his arms, to feel the edges of new scars on his wrists and neck.

“What happened to you?” she asked afterwards, as they were lounging on her bed and drinking beer straight from the cans.

“Zsasz caught me. Beat me up for a few days, you know how it goes. The psychos have to rant and rant and rant, and they get no work done. I let him think he had broken me, so he would pass the word to Falcone. What happened to  _you_ ?”

“I encountered an organ trafficking ring, took it apart, came home. I've been waiting for the news to reach Carmine, considering I freed three dozen prisoners who knew me by name.”

“We'll deal with that problem as it arises. As long as you stay quiet here, you'll be safe. You picked a good hideout.”

“I picked a hideout with a brand new panic room, extremely well concealed, just had it built. Should be usable as soon as the plaster is dry.”

“Good.”

He took a few sips of his beer, and she emptied hers. Then his hand found his way between her tights, and his fingers a little higher.

“Why is it that I keep ending up with randy teenage boys?” she commented.

He smiled to her and her stomach fluttered. Damn her and her weakness for loyal, reliable men with good hearts. She hid it, rolled her eyes, and tried to unbutton his jacket. He recoiled. Rage flooded her. “Beat me up for a few days”, Butch had said. He was a hardened criminal, and Fish could easily imagine the kind of horrendous damage that would cause a man that strong to  _shy away_ from nudity. She would have to murder Zsasz. She would have to make him  _suffer_ .

“Fish, no!” Butch said. “Just... Don't think about it, alright? We had a good thing going five seconds ago, can we go on with that?”

His trembling hand wrapped around her shaking wrist, but his tremors weren't caused by anger. Just, she suspected, physical damage. She tried to pull her hand away. He dragged her to him.

“He's mine to slaughter. Forget him. I'm not sharing anyway.”

She rested her forehead against his, closed her eyes, and tried to summon enough calm to acquiesce.

 

###

 

“Mrs. Heller will be here any moment. I trust the two of you know the cases?” Carlos asked.

Harvey nodded. Jim, who had just finished reading the files SVU had sent about the rape case, was still cringing.

“Yes”, he answered. “Yes.”

Alvarez knew exactly how dark his thoughts were. By the time he'd been done with the girl's deposition, he had felt the need to murder someone. It was the kind of cases that made you question why you didn't go vigilante yourself. Some crimes just got to you, like when a teenage girl was abused at gunpoint and forced to shower afterwards, so there would be no evidence to be found.

Of course, it was only her word, but Carlos knew his statistics and the very low occurrence of false rape accusations. Reyes' work on the case had also been extensive, meaning he had tried everything in his power to make the accusations stick. The investigation had obviously been buried after both kids died, though, and the file in itself contained little information on what didn't directly pertain to the suspect.

They needed to know what had happened between the assault and the girl's death. They needed to know who had rallied around her. They needed to know everything.

Still, when Agnes Heller walked in, the three of them were uneasy and hesitant.

“We'll need to know who your daughter was close to”, Carlos asked, feeling like a bastard. “Anyone who might have been familiar with her music boxes, any friends who were especially dear to her.”

“I... See”, Mrs. Heller said, looking to the corners of the room with a nervous expression. “Do ask the questions you need to ask.”

“We'll try to make this quick”, he tried to reassure her.

“O-Of course. Please excuse me. I haven't been here in a long time. I... I'm sorry, I'm being jittery, aren't I?”

“It's alright. Can I get you a glass of water?”

“Yes, thank you, young man.”

He walked out to get the drink and came back to hear the woman questioning Bullock. Gordon was frowning.

“It's just that... If someone is using my daughter's work to hurt people... My daughter's  _voice..._ I need to know who the victims were. So if you could just... Tell me about them a little...”

Carlos stared at Harvey and shook his head -  _don't you tell her_ \- but the older man smiled politely and answered.

“First man was a stalker who killed his ex-girlfriend. Second man killed his ex-wife. Third man set his father's house on fire so he'd get the inheritance.”

_That son of a bitch_ . He had done that on purpose. She would never talk  _now_ . Gordon was glaring and grimacing at his partner, obviously as aggravated as Alvarez.

“Oh. I see. 'Every breath you take'”, Agnes pointed out. “The murderer is accusing them.”

“That is our suspicion”, Carlos said, sinking back into his chair. “Now, could we please make a list of your daughter's friends?”

The woman nodded.

“I'm afraid it will be very short. She was a nice girl, and she had many... I suppose you could say acquaintances, you know how teenagers are 'friends' with everyone. But, after she went to the police... You have to understand, Andrew Howe was a popular boy. Things turned ugly. Most of her 'friends' didn't believe her. She was ostracised.”

Carlos felt chilled, and he saw Harvey close his fists, from the corner of his eye. Jim leaned away from the table, his face blank.

“And prior to that?” the blonde pushed, taking on the role of the asshole. “Who visited your home often? Who did she talk about?”

“I-I mostly tried to put all of that out of my mind, you know? I know I shouldn't have blamed those children, but... I was so angry back then. I couldn't give you a single name. I didn't feel they were worth remembering.”

 

###

 

“You have to understand that I was not, in fact, working in this establishment when those events unfolded”, St. Peter's headmistress told Jim and Harvey. “But yes, I'm very familiar with the name of Cadence Heller. We owe most of our bullying rules to what happened to her. That being said, I'm surprised the police would look into her case after so many years, really.”

Jim knew Harvey didn't want to find their killer, and figured he might has well handle the case on his own.

“What do you know of the story?” he asked.

“I can refer you to Jack Murray if you want the full details, he's our math teacher. He worked here back then. Unfortunately, he won't be here until Monday. I know very little, myself.”

“Any details might help. Her mother told us things turned 'ugly' after she accused the boy?”

“'Ugly' is a way to put it. It was a disaster. Andrew Howe was one of the cool kid. Scratch that. From my understanding of the situation, he was  _the_ cool kid. When he told his friends that the girl was lying, the whole school turned against her. It got very, very bad. Bleach in her locker, damage to her car, drinks thrown at her... She reported several physical assaults, mostly from other girls. She ended up leaving for medical reasons, and as you know... She didn't come back.”

“Where were her  _friends_ while that happened?” Harvey snapped, his tone more than a bit hostile.

“I... That's hard to say, I'm not that well informed. I assume if she had any, they received the same backlash. Even the teachers who defended her ran into trouble.”

“We'll take the phone number of mister Murray”, Jim said.

He found it difficult to wrap his head around the idea of several hundred students turning against one girl. It made him feel ill.

“Of course, let me find it”, the headmistress said, browsing through her phone. “Anything else?”

“Any footage from that time and the previous years would help. All we have his her sketchbook. So school pictures, videos of the school fairs... Anything of the sort... If you could provide that, we would be very grateful.”

They left the school an hour later with a box full of tapes that  _maybe_ contained footage of the girl.

Jim frowned at Harvey.

“Tell me you will  _at least_ help me with that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don't see the point in digging out all of that.”

“Well we might catch a  _killer_ . Not a good enough reason?”

“There's killer and killer.”

“So what, should I wait until he offs some crooked cop to ask for help?”

“We've been over this before. And anyway, you're having the lady's phone calls watched, don't you? If she worries about the girl's friends, she'll call them.”

“I'm not so sure about that. She went through this with her husband. She'll be cautious.”

“Well then I guess we're fucked, then.”

“Keep being like that and I'll ask if I can keep Alvarez.”

“He's not crazy enough to want you.”

Jim sighed and opened the car, dropping the box on the back seat.

“Let's just go.”

 

###

 

Sarah had spent half the day catching up on all the cases she had ignored due to her family problems. She had slacked off enough as it was. She had a job to do and, considering she had just thrown away her entire life for it, she’d better do it _right_.

When she went back to her office, head aching, she found Carlos using her TV. Harvey’s squatting habits were contagious.

“I’m going to have to point out we have rooms where you can review evidence, Alvarez.”

“I know, I’m sorry. We got a box full of tapes from Cadence Heller’s school. We decided to split the work, but there were only two VCRs available.”

She sighed, nodded, and sat at her desk.

“How is it going?”

“We’re looking for friends of the girl, since the mother won’t give them up - thank Bullock for that - and we haven’t yet managed to contact anyone else who knew her.”

“Who did you try?”

“Her teachers, her classmates, anyone who would pick up the phone? She’s ‘the guitar girl’ to them, or ‘the one who killed herself’. Or ‘ah yes I _remember her_! Wasn’t she the one who made music boxes?’. Then they go on and say they threw everything she had sold them away when she went and accused that ‘poor kid’. The best I got was ‘you better talk to her best friend, she was a blonde girl, Patricia something’. No ‘Patricia’s to be found on the students list, of course.”

“Anything on the videos?”

He pointed the remote at the screen and fast-forwarded.

“Years of school fairs and events like that. She was in the school band, so we have their performances too. So far all I can say is that she was a regular music nerd. Guitar, keyboards, harmonica, apparently violin too… Ah, look, that’s her.”

He hit play.

On the TV, the pretty teenage girl that Sarah remembered from the pictures in her case file was climbing on stage, during what was obviously a school fair. She was wearing a colorful dress, her hairdo looked elaborate, and she had a guitar. The footage was terrible and the sound crackled, but you could still recognise the the tune she was playing, over and over again. It was the intro to “you’re so vain”. She kept looping over it, peeking to her left, growing nervous, and gave an apologetic smile to the audience. It earned her some laughs and a few shouts. Then, a blonde girl raced to her, one foot naked, and took the other microphone.

“Got. You”, Carlos murmured.

You could tell the teenagers were good friends, from their body language, the way the blonde held Cadence’s shoulder as she sang, and their grins. Alvarez fast-forwarded to the end of the song, and listened to the presentator's “Thank you, Pamela, thank you, Cadence, a big round of applause if you please” that punctuated their performance. The detective browsed through a pile of photocopies.

“And I have her. Pamela Olsen.”

“Call her in. Want me to review the rest of the tapes?”

“If you're not too busy.”

“Something tells me this case is going to take all the work we can throw at it.”

Three bodies in a week made for a very brutal opening act.

 

###

 

Barbara was shivering in her bed, the dozen magazines Selina had brought her strewn around her. She had slept the whole day, and she was not altogether sure of being awake. Her head was swimming. She smelled like sweat, her skin was crawling, her stomach was made of lead, the shadows were deeper and the paintings on the walls seemed to be moving. It was subtle, like everything was painted on different layers of transparent cloth, slowly swaying.

The baby wasn't moving.

“No visible defects”, the doctors had said. Was that supposed to be encouraging when the boy did not kick, did not twist, did not do whatever it was that foetuses were supposed to do? When she pressed her belly, she felt nothing but stone.

She rolled into a ball, listening to the blood in her ears.

The door opened and it took all of her will not to hide under the covers.

“Oh, you're awake!” Jim said in a warm voice, his 'I'm happy to see you' voice.

Now she was sure she was dreaming. She looked up. He appeared uneasy, but smiled, walked to her, and took her hand.

“I tried to come this morning but the doctors sent me away. Said you needed to rest.”

She did nothing. His face grew concerned, then worried.

“Barb?”

She startled.

“Oh, sorry. I... The treatment makes me... Dizzy is not the word.”

“I see.”

He picked the magazines up and stacked them into a neat little pile on the table, then came back and sat on the corner of the bed.

“It will get better”, he told her, reaching for her hand. “It's only a matter of time. You just hang on.”

She looked at his hand wrapped around hers, tried to focus on it, trying to feel the slightest amount of joy. She had dreamed of his warmth for months. Now that she had some, all she could feel was the coldness in her fingers and the stickiness of her palms.

There was something important she _had_ to remember. What was it?

“ _I can't discuss important things nor take any decisions until I'm clean!_ ” she recited when the memory came back to her.

Jim chuckled at that.

“Yeah, don't worry, Harv' gave me a checklist too.”

She blinked.

“A checklist?”

“Yep.”

He took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it.

“Let me see. 'Don't bully her'. 'Don't bully' - and that's underlined - 'you'. What else? 'Don't be a douchebag'. Four exclamation points there, you can see the guy likes me.”

She chuckled.

“He's a good friend. Keep him.”

“He's a great friend. Prone to punching me in the face, but you take what you can get.”

Barbara felt her heart start to beat again, and the chill receded. Nice, joking Jim. She barely remembered nice, joking Jim. He had vanished on the day he had joined the GCPD.

“The last point is 'apologize', underlined four times and with no less than six arrows pointing to it, but I should point out that I was going to do that _anyway._ ”

She looked at him with what she thought was a neutral expression, but apparently not, because he grimaced.

“ _I was!_ ” he exclaimed. “I mean... I did react poorly. I am not... I'm not very good with situations like these. I...”

She squeezed his hand. She had a faint idea of what he was trying to say. Jim, closed up Jim, who had been dragging people up since he was a child, and still barely understood why they couldn't just soldier through their issues. Soldiering came naturally to him.

“What I mean is that I can _push_ people, but I'm very bad at supporting them. But I can learn. I'll try.”

Barbara nodded, and pressed her second hand tohis.

“Thank you. I'll try my best, too.”

He smiled at that, and hugged her.

 

###

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Jim snapped out of it! Sleep does wonders. 
> 
> I hope you're not too bored with Cadence's case and all of my placing my pawns where they should be?


	6. Teen-age prostitute

Pamela Olsen, it turned out, hadn't changed since her teenage years.

She'd been supposed to arrive at the precinct at eleven in the morning, and showed up at nine. Collins brought her to Gordon's desk, where Carlos had been sitting, on the phone with the mathematics teacher they wanted to question. She swayed and bounced nervously until he finished his call.

“GoodmorningImPamwellImPamela, Olsen, youcalledmeinwhatiswrong?”

Alvarez blinked as he separated the words.

“Miss Olsen. Thank you for coming in. I wasn't expecting you to arrive so early. Please take a seat while I find my colleagues. I will join you shortly.”

Gordon wouldn't be hard to find. Being homeless, he would either be sleeping in the locker room or in his car. Bullock... Well, it was nine. He was bound to arrive soon.

The girl - the woman - nodded. She looked barely a day over seventeen, with pink lips and blonde curls and clear blue eyes. _She's nearing thirty_ , he reminded himself. She gave him a nervous grin and twitched as he stood up.

“I-uh-okay, but please just tell me didsomethingbadhappen?”

“We need some information on Cadence Heller. Please don't be alarmed. Take a seat, don't hesitate to ask for water if you want some, I will only be gone a few minutes.”

Her grin grew larger, she gestured as if wanting to interject something, then took a deep breath and dropped into a chair.

“Yes. Yes, of course. Yes. I'll be waiting. Here. I. Yes.”

He smiled reassuringly and walked to the locker room where, unsurprisingly, he found Gordon getting dressed.

“Are you planning to ever rent a flat?”, Carlos commented. “And Olsen just arrived. Hurry.”

Jim nodded and put on his tie and jacket, looking surprisingly sharp for someone who was living out of a suitcase. Five minutes later, they had joined their visitor, who was fidgeting and playing with a pencil when they arrived.

“Miss Olsen, this is detective Gordon”, he said as they took their seats. “We are currently investigating a suspect who was in possession of some of miss Heller's customized pin drums, from the music boxes she used to make. We are trying to establish of who purchased her pieces, and who is likely to own a great many of those cylinders.”

The young woman blinked.

“Ah, well, she sold those to about everyone. I have half of Avril's Lavigne discography she gave me as a gift, and a few more songs. I mean... She made dozens. Dozens. I doubt she even kept track.”

Jim frowned at that, then acquiesced.

“I see. Can you please give us the name of her other friends? You are, so far, the only one we could track down.”

Pamela wrinkled her nose.

“Am I going to get anyone in trouble?”

“Possibly. Not, however, the kind of person you should feel sorry about.”

She paled at that.

“What are you looking for? Who did your suspect kill?  _I_ am not going to get in trouble, am I?”

“We will not divulge that you talked to us”, Carlos promised. “You don't have to worry about this coming back to hurt you, Miss Olsen.”

She fidgeted some more.

“They were all my friends too. They're good people, you know?”

“Then we have nothing against them. But please understand that we are looking for a murderer who might have attended the same school as you did. The sooner we can find that person, the more lives we can protect.”

The blonde sighed, and nervously played with the curls at her temple.

“There's Marcy - Marcy Sanders - and Jonathan Tucker, and Simon Lamb. Tuck was her boyfriend for two years, Simon was  _his_ best friend. And Marcy was seated between Cadence and I in English class so we kind of bonded, what with her passing our notes back and forth.”

Gordon wrote all of that down. 

“No one else?”, he asked.

“Cadence was a nice girl. Everyone liked her. So I guess you can talk to everyone in the debate team and everyone in the school band, too. But close, close friends she used to hang with? It was just the four of us.”

“Were you all still close when she died?”

“Yes and no. Marcy kind of liked Andy so she walked away when things started to go south. I assume you know what happened back then, right? The bullying? Tuck was out of school when it all happened, so it was mostly Simon and me trying to stand up to the rest of the school.” She shrugged. “Not that it made any d-differenceintheend.”

She took a deep, wet breath and kept her eyes resolutely open. 

“Would you say Simon was-”

Carlos' question was cut short by Sarah's voice.

“ _Jim! Carlos! Come quick!_ ” she shouted from her office.

 

###

 

Sarah had forgotten how quickly paperwork piled up when you weren't working eighteen hours days. She had come in at seven to try to catch up, and was making swift progress. It helped that everyone was either still in bed or as busy as her.

She had kept the TV on as a background noise, with the news channel repeating yesterday's stories over and over again. She looked up for the live airing of of one of Gotham's rising politicians' public speech , Jacob Strickland. The man was going to run against Aubrey James in a few months, as far as she knew, and if he wasn't “discouraged” before that, she had to know if he would be a worse evil than the current mayor.

He smiled to the cameras and climbed on the stage, shaking the hand of a few people on his way. The people were crowding not only around the stage, but well behind, on the street, behind a security barrier his bodyguards had erected. Sarah took in his neat clothes, his burly shape, the thinning of his hair. He waved to the crowd as he arrived to his stand, and adjusted his microphone.

No sound came out. He looked to his left, nodded, looked down, and picked a small object from his stand. The item was silvery, and Strickland inspected it, nonplussed.

“ _Jim! Carlos! Come quick!_ ” Sarah screamed.

She had good instincts. The two men raced in, just in time to hear the stage's speakers turn on. What they played was  _not_ the output of the microphone. It was hard rock, with a shrill voice quickly coming in to sing the first verse.

“ _She's only seventeen. She's really sort of cute. She's working in the street. She's a teenage prostitute._ ”

“Oh shit”, Jim muttered, his voice empty.

Strickland turned left again, gesturing angrily, then took a bullet to the shoulder and another to the chest. He dropped to the floor.

 

###

 

 

Sal had many things to say about Fish Mooney, but the one that kept floating to the top of his mind was 'craziest bitch under the sun'.

“Did you by any chance record that?” she asked, shaking with laughter. “Please tell me you recorded that. This was  _perfect_ .” She collapsed into giggles again. “And what's that song? It's amazing.”

“Can you focus here? You’d think it’s the first execution you ever saw. Get a grip, lady.”

Fish chuckled again. If you forgot she was laughing about that guy getting shot, she looked nearly normal, too. She had dropped the slutty drag queen clothes, and was wearing a loose, cream white, turtleneck top with a black skirt that went to her ankles. She wore a wig, long curly permed black hair that fell on her shoulders and swallowed her face. And about the face, it didn’t look like someone had puked a rainbow on it anymore. That was one fine disguise. If Salvatore had not been waiting for her, he would not have recognized her at all.

He’d have to make sure to have no distractions around the next time they had a chat, though. Usually, he conducted his business talks at the restaurant, but Fish Mooney was way too high on Falcone’s shit list to risk meeting her there. They had settled for some small-time meth lab at the edge of town - the ‘staff’ had to be replaced, so he was going there anyway - and the TV had been on when they came in.

“I’m sorry. Funniest thing I saw all year. Don’t know who pulled that one, but they have  _style_ .”

“Yeah, right.” 

Sal turned to his men.

“One of you go and see what that was about with that guy.”

He knew little about Strickland, seeing how the guy had not caused trouble for him so far. The whole ‘running against James’ thing made him a little more interesting, but his bid for mayorship was a long shot. That execution, though? Clearly not a mob hit. You didn’t put down people you could pay off.

Fish chuckled. 

“No need. I knew Strickland. He's... Was, I suppose? Financing Falcone's sex trade business, and has been known to 'sample the goods' on more than one occasion. I guess his tastes weren't to  _everyone's_ taste.”

“Yeah, I kind of got the pedo vibe, what with the soundtrack. Didn’t know he was Falcone’s, though. Good riddance on both counts.  _Now_ can we focus on business?”

“I suppose. Why did you call me?”

“Let’s say I have concerns about how you use the resources I gave you. You realize I’m not funding your cheap grabs for territory, right?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the bookies who suddenly found themselves working for new people this week, small time gambling hells getting new staff at gunpoint, and the fences who were robbed, small things like that. Makes a man worry.”

“Hush now. That’s not a grab for territory, that’s me preparing my exit. All I took was from the Russians, wasn’t it? I didn’t go and rob you from legitimate business?”

“Yeah, that’s still a grab for territory.”

“You know when I get my hands on the Penguin, Falcone’s coming after me all guns blazing. So I’m preparing a few red herrings. The more places he has to check to find me, the more time I’ll have to get out of town safe.”

“If you say so. Now, about  _Penguin_ . Where are you with that?”

She shook her head.

“I hit a minor snag, shall we say. I was counting on Gilzean. Turns out he’s not usable anymore. I sent a mutual friend to enquire about his state of mind, and I’m afraid he does not feel very friendly towards me. On that note”, she finished in a pleasant tone that did not match the cold look in her eyes, “what do you have on Zsasz?”

Salvatore leaned back into his chair. She was incredible. How she had managed to raise so high while being that stupid, he didn’t know.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t cut your losses. You don’t learn. Here you are, with money and guys to get to Cobblepot, and what are you gonna do? Go after Falcone’s pitbull. Doesn’t matter that it’s gonna get you in the deepest shit, when you have an axe to grind, reason flies outta window.”

She clicked her tongue, her face barely in check. You could see the rage seeping out of her pores.

“Don’t you worry now”, she said. “I have my priorities in order here. I’ll get you Penguin first.”

 

###

 

“ _Music box killer makes some noise”_ , the front page of the Gazette was titled.  _“A politician profiteering from child prostitution was gunned down today by a new vigilante.”_

“This is a disaster”, Sarah said.

The three detectives standing in her office looked grim. Well, two of them did. Harvey was looking out the window, unconcerned. “So a child rapist was shot. No skin off my back”, she had heard him tell Jim a few moments before. 

“We got the files the press received”, Alvarez said. “There’s a whole investigation behind that. Stolen paperwork, the whole money trail documented, and that picture of Strickland with the kid… At least the killer wasn’t an asshole about it, SVU got an anonymous tip before the shooting, they had a team at the location of the girls when our victim was killed.”

Fifteen teenage slaves had been freed from a brothel in the diamond district, three blocks away from the murder scene. The SVU team had rescued the girls, and noted the near-immediate arrival of two suspicious vans that had circled the block twice before driving away. Whoever Strickland worked with had sent someone to collect the “merchandise”.

“I heard”, Sarah commented. “It was timed perfectly. Any idea how our perp pulled that off?”

“He called himself”, Harvey explained. “Taped a disposable phone above the door of the brothel, called another disposable phone, and walked away with it. Then he listened in from his rooftop until the raid started.”

“No prints?”

“No prints, no hair. Some black fiber on the tape, presumably from gloves.”

“This was not a rushed job”, Jim intervened. “The collected proof itself shows someone has been tracking Strickland for weeks. He knew how fast SVU would show up, knew the speech wouldn't last more than thirty minutes. As for the email the press received with all the scans and photos, it was sent from the same building the killer was perched on. So he broke into an apartment, uploaded the files to some email account  _using the tenant's computer_ , climbed to the roof to shoot his target, then went back to the flat to hit send. That's where he left the envelope with the paper version for us to find. And while he did all that, he managed not to  _once_ get caught on camera. Not by the security cameras in the building, not by the press, and not by the traffic cameras. He had scouted the area.”

Carlos started pacing.

“What we have here is someone who is exceedingly well prepared, who has worked on this for months. Brook might have been released from prison, but the second and third victims were on the run. They had to be tracked down. Strickland had not even been looked at by the cops,  _ever_ . Our perp did all the detective work on his own. And... Considering how fast the bodies drop, our guy is working off a list. There's no saying how many other targets he's ready to hit.”

“Find Cadence Heller's friends, now”, Sarah snapped. “Jim, Harvey, you go and check their whereabouts. Talk to them if you can. Carlos, you stay here, have their phone records pulled and see who is in contact with who. The commissioner called me in, we'll see what you find when I'll get back.”

 

###

 

“So how's Barbara?” Harvey asked as Jim drove, on their way to the veterinary clinic where Marcy Sanders worked. 

“Why are you asking me? I know you went this morning. She told me when I called her ten minutes ago.”

“Right, let me put it in fancy words then. How is it going with Barbara?”

Jim sighed.

“I have no clue.”

“Well that's encouraging.”

“I'm trying to be supportive, really. You gave me a checklist, remember?”

Harvey lit a cigarette. He was doing that more and more often, so Jim frowned. His partner snorted and rolled down his window.

“I did apologize, by the way”, the blonde added. “Not that you needed to tell me to.”

“Really? So what did you apologize for?”

“Was there more than one thing?”

Harvey chuckled. 

“Just pulling your leg. Good that you did. The kid needs support. What do you plan to do now?”

“She still seems very out of it. I'm waiting to see what she has to say. The first step to getting sober is admitting you have a problem, right?”

His partner glared at him. All humor had left his face.

“That's a fat lot of bullshit”, he snapped.

Jim blinked at that, sincerely confused. All his memories of twelve-step programs and recovery plans flooded to his mind, and he didn't see Harvey's point.

“What?” 

“First step to getting sober is getting sober”, the older man explained in a cold tone. “Of course when you're stoned you're gonna want to stay stoned.”

Gordon started looking for a parking spot, because he was not going to be able to follow both this conversation and the flow of traffic. For a start, he wanted to be able to look at Bullock's face without swerving onto the sidewalk. He entered a supermarket's parking lot and turned into the first available space. 

“Alright, any tips?”

“Don't be a douchebag? Told you that already.”

“Harvey, I'm just  _really_ bad at handling addicts. I had to for eight years as a teenager and I can safely say the way I did it was catastrophic. So if you have some  _actually useful_ advice, drop the snide comments and just  _tell_ me.”

That hadn't been what Bullock was expecting. He looked puzzled for a moment, and went for a delaying tactic.

“As a teenager?”

Jim groaned.

“My brother. He started drinking when our father died. Stopped in his twenties when he met his wife.”

“Didn't your father die when you were, like, ten?”

“Yeah.”

Harvey nodded at that, and squeezed his tight.

“I have no tips. Your problem is not with addicts anyway. It's with people. You don't pay attention.”

“I-”

“You don't. Any hint of emotions from someone? Like water off a duck's back. You're too focused on your goals and everything. That's why you can't deal with people when they snap, of course you can't, you don't  _get_ it.”

Jim felt both cold and boiling with rage. It all drained out of him when he noticed the warmth of Harvey's hand, still on his tight. He swallowed, uncertain of what it was that had replaced the anger and dismay. Docility, for a start.

“I usually wouldn't tell you this”, Bullock added. “For fuck's sake, I hate chats like these. But the kid is going to need months to get over her pills, and after  _that,_ she'll still have to deal with whatever made her use in the first place. She'll need friends. So, you know, just pay attention.”

 

###

 

Fish opened the door to what was supposed to be her secret hideout for the second time in as many hours. The first visitor had been Butch, who couldn't get enough of his new toy. Not that she minded. The second one was Harvey.

“I see the meaning of discretion is still lost on you.”

“I brought burgers.”

“Oh! That changes everything!”

“Quit the sarcasm”, he answered, walking into the house. “Can you even remember when you last ate fast food?”

She snorted, but followed him to the basement, where they shared the burgers, the fries, and the diet coke. 

“I'm getting the feeling you came just so I could snap at you about the Butch thing.”

“Nope, I came because I got a free maxi menu coupon.”

“Did you now?  _Don't you mess with my life again_ .”

He got a beer can out of the take out paper bag, and took his sweet time opening it. Then he drank a few sips. Then he stole the fries she hadn't eaten. Then he kept pretending he didn't have to answer her remark.

“Harvey!”

“Oh, are you complaining now? 'Cause I saw Gilzean leave and  _he_ didn't seem in a complaining mood.”

She flushed but kept her tone disdainful.

“He wouldn't be.”

Harv' laughed, because who knew that better than him?

“Why would you go and push him like that?” she asked. “The wingman thing isn't like you.”

“It's just... I can't stand that asswipe, but he did give his life to protect you, he didn't plan he'd end up surviving. The guy deserves  _some_ reward.”

“Still unlike you.”

He sighed.

“Don't get me wrong, if I thought there was any chance of us  _working_ , Gilzean could go to hell. Won't happen, however. It's not like we haven't tried hard enough. Now, you know I love you, but I know when to call it quits. Gilzean is right for you. He fits you.”

' _Now, you know I love you'. Harvey fucking Bullock, you idiot_ . Never, in the years they had known each other, had he uttered those words. Not when they were together, not during the long and tortuous courtship that had preceded, not after. He had been clear about it in everything but words, but of course he would only be able to actually  _say_ it after letting go.

“For someone who can't stand mushiness, you're an awful romantic.”

He shrugged.

“It's romantic to want to feel good now? 'Cause I might reconsider some of the drugs I quit.”

“You idiot.”

“I know. Brought you another gift”, he announced, digging into the bag again.

He handed her a tape, with neither label nor box.

“Is that... You wouldn't have?”

_Jacob Strickland's execution._

“I knew you'd want to see it. You and your weird video fetish.”

She laughed _._

“I saw it. It was  _hilarious,_ I've been trying to get a copy all day.  Thank you! That was terribly sweet of you.”

He smiled.

“Anything for you, Fish.”

 

###

###

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song during the speech is Frank Zappa's "teen-age prostitute", cue the chapter title. It's, uh, an interesting song, for lack of a better term. 
> 
> Also, I promised in the description that all hell would break loose. Well, here are some cracks. :)


	7. Have another drink

Sarah thought she had spent more time crying in a week than in the rest of her life. Once again, she had ended up sobbing at her desk, late into the evening. Loeb had kept her in four hours to review of the progress of each or the unit's running investigations. Two of those had been spent on the “Music box killer”. The commissioner had been dissatisfied with everyone's performance, including hers.

“Brady assured me that you were hard working and competent”, he had said, “but I'm yet to see any evidence of that. If I were you, I would be very concerned.”

She wasn't feeling too good.

It took her half an hour to collect herself. Once she felt calm, she opened her blinds and unlocked her door. Carlos, who was still working despite the late hour, turned to her from his seat at Harvey's desk. He waited a moment, then walked to her door and came in.

“Hey”, he murmured, for what was there to say?

 _Did you wait for me?_ Sarah wondered.

“You should go home, Carlos. Your wife is probably waiting for you.”

“No she isn't”, he quietly corrected, “and she's probably still awake so I have a few hours to kill. Fancy a beer?”

She gaped at his words, and at the casual tone he had used to drop _that_. He was not one to bring his personal issues to the workplace, even if things usually went south when he had to interact with Grover. Everyone knew his marriage was not going well. He had barely concealed affairs, he went home late. Yet, he did not discuss it, not even with Sarah, who was supposedly his friend. Asking him about his problems got you non-committal grunts and vague, polite answers like “Mary is well, thank you. She loved that book you recommended”. The most she had ever gotten out of him was a “we're working on fixing things”, the year Mary's thing with Grover had been discovered, and back then Carlos had been close to unravelling. He had been sleeping in the locker room for three weeks.

“Alright, I'm in”, she replied.

They walked to that bar at the end of the street, and drank in silence for a few moments. Then Carlos talked about work, and so did she, because what else did they have?

“We're bringing all four of Cadence's friends in tomorrow. Bullock and Gordon had a chat with two of them already, that vet assistant woman, and Jonathan Tucker. They say they seem like good enough people, completely blindsided. They're not in contact either, I cross-checked three years worth of phone records. Pamela Olsen calls them all on birthdays and for Christmas, but that's about it.”

“So we put them all in the same room and see which one looks the most like a sociopath?”

“Basically. We have nothing on them, anyway.”

Sarah sighed.

“Loeb wants the killer found before the end of the week. Says we're not working this hard enough, that I should allocate better resources, that I haven't been available enough.”

Carlos slammed his glass on the counter at that, though his face remained neutral, just like his tone.

“I'm curious about those better resources. Where does he expect you to find them, understaffed and underfunded as we are? As for not being available enough, that's _rich_ coming from him. The only people he's available for are Falcone and Maroni.”

Sarah took a long, deep breath. She felt like sobbing again. Words were all nice and well, and should have meant something, but Carlos' support couldn't compete with Loeb's threats about her job. The detective patted her wrist.

“You're doing the best you can”, he said. “Scratch that, you're doing the best _possible_.”

She paused, closed her eyes, composed herself.

“Can we not talk about work?”

“Alright.”

He ordered two more drinks, not the shitty beers they had gotten as a first round, but black velvets in tall glasses, something that would last a little while.

“Think there's really champagne in those?” she asked.

“I'm not even sure there's guinness.”

Sarah chuckled. Then she searched for a topic that would make neither of them feel miserable, and came up empty.

“Why are you not home, Carlos?” she asked, since he had dropped a hint of his issues, and it maybe meant that he was ready to talk about them.

He looked at his glass and drummed on it with his fingers, carefully considering his answer, or whether he would give one. He took a while to decide. Several minutes, even.

“I was done trying to patch things up four years ago”, he explained. “We keep trying because... I don't know why we keep trying. We haven't found anyone else we tolerate so well, I guess. And she can take care of herself.”

That last part was true. Once upon a time, Mary had been a beat cop, before she decided to switch to a simpler line of work. Alvarez was walking proof that you weren't even safe when you married a fellow cop. He had still ended up as the husband of a civilian. What was it that Mary was doing now? Cook in some French restaurant near the Royal Hotel?

“If you don't want you be with her, you should leave”, Sarah murmured. “This is fair to neither of you. If all you do is share a house...”

“Well maybe if Mary wanted more than a roommate, she shouldn't have slept around”, he snapped.

He quickly composed himself.

“Sorry. I didn't set out to make your day more depressing”, he said. “Let's not talk about family either.”

“Alright. So what do you _like_ , anyway?”

“Hell if I know.”

 

###

 

Jim hovered near Strickland's corpse as Leslie cleaned her tools and reordered the examining room's cabinets. He didn't look at her, but was sharply aware of her every move all the same. He had been there for an hour, and had waited for everyone to leave, with Ed hanging around for much longer than he should have, probing at the victim's wounds.

When Nygma had left, Jim had not managed to say a word. Leslie opened the conversation after locking the last cupboard.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

He jumped at that, because it was - more or less - what he had came in to say.

“I- Uh, It's... I wanted to apologize. I'm not sure how I should have handled this but you deserved - deserve - better than...”

“Hush”, she cut in with a smile, that amazing eyes-first smile . “I get what you are trying to say, and I appreciate that, so stop talking before you insert your foot in your mouth. As a physician, I have to warn you, it's very difficult to extract afterwards.”

He looked at her with disbelief and such overwhelming _longing_ that he nearly crossed the room to slip into her arms. He gripped the autopsy table instead.

“If the circumstances had been different... I... I haven't quite sorted things out yet, but...”

He raked a hand through his hair.

“But you have to do the right thing”, she completed in a wistful voice. “I know, Jim. I know you. You will do the right thing even if it's not the _best_ thing. Even if it's the dumbest, really, sometimes. But this is who you are, isn't it?”

She chuckled, sadly but with no bitterness. She was too good a person to hold onto anger. _She was the one_ , he thought. If he had to imagine a future where he was happy, she would have been in it at his side. It was not just that she completed him and supported him, it was that she managed to have him walk out of the darkness of his own free will. She didn't have to drag and push. She just had to be herself. Letting her go was soul-crushing.

No broken heart was more important than a child, however. Jim didn't know, at this point, if would ever manage - or even attempt - to rebuild something with Barbara, but it did not matter at all. What he had to do was to be a father.

“This is who I am”, he confirmed. “I'm sorry.”

She smiled. This time, it didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Take care of yourself, Jim.”

“You too”, he forced out of his clenched throat. “You too.”

 

###

 

Jim knocked on Harvey's door and earned a few choice words for his trouble. He heard something crash to the floor, some more swearing, then the door opened. His partner squinted, confused.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped after recognizing him.

The blonde held up the six pack of beer he had brought with him. Harvey didn't seem in a listening mood. He was dishevelled, sweaty, in half buttoned pants and a dirty under-top.

“Am I going to have to fix your problems?” the older man asked. “Because all I've been doing this last month is fix other people's problems - which I _hate_ \- and I just want _one_ quiet evening with a bottle of Jack and a hand around my cock.”

That mental picture was about as erotic as a disaster scene, but it got Jim hard anyway. _Fuck._ So much for reigning that attraction in. _Do you really have to pop a boner just at the mention of wanking? What are you, twelve?_ Then his thoughts turned to the fact that he was starting to use Bullock's slang, which was not a good thing either.

“I'll just go”, he muttered.

Harvey grunted and snatched the beers. He went back inside without closing the door, so Jim followed him.

_Talk about a disaster scene._

“Come on, Harv', I'm sure it takes more effort to create _that_ mess than to clean it up.”

Bullock rolled his eyes, strode over several empty beer cans, and collapsed into the sofa, right between four bags of doritos. Orange triangles rained all over the old leather.

“You shut the fuck up”, he said, throwing Jim one of the fresh beers.

He opened one of the cans himself, and started drinking. The younger man hopped over discarded clothes and empty bottles and the contents of an ashtray, and joined him. Harvey sighed, a 'mildly annoyed and resigned but not really angry' sort of sigh. He grabbed the TV remote and started flipping channels, stopping on an animal documentary about some kind of bird that weaved ball shaped hanging nests. It wasn't nearly interesting, but it was quiet, no one died and no one's heart was torn apart. They drank, they slumbered, and they laughed about falling birds.

“You sleepin' here?” Harvey asked after an hour of that.

“I'd rather not get stabbed to death by doritos, thanks. And I was only dropping by.”

“Places to be?”

“Your little stunt with Gilzean got me formally invited to Cobblepot's club, and if I look like I'm back-pedalling about working with him, he's going to get suspicious about what we were both doing there. So I thought I'd go - once - after properly numbing myself. Cheers”, Jim finished, draining his beer can.

“You don't have to go. I'd really recommend not to, too.”

Jim turned to him and asked the question he should have asked the moment Harvey told him he needed to get into the club.

“How long has Fish been back?”

Harvey looked at his empty beer can, dropped it to the floor, and opened another.

“None of your fucking business”, he said in an empty voice that made it clear he wouldn't discuss the matter.

Jim's anger rose at the idea of having pandered to a criminal so his best friend could collude with another one, but it died down quickly. He was to exhausted to think about it. So he just focused on the quiet commentary on the TV, and closed his eyes.

He woke up covered in crushed doritos, under a fleece blanket.

 

###

 

Sarah pretended to work and quietly listened to the four friends of Cadence Heller, who were waiting for Alvarez and the others just outside her door. They had been left waiting on purpose. Carlos wanted to know how they interacted.

So far, they weren't _that_ friendly.

“Well, thanks so much”, Simon Lamb snapped at Pamela Olsen. “You had to give our names. They called my _boss_. I work in a bank! How long do you think I'll keep my job if they learn I'm a person of interest in a murder case?”

Lamb was a tall, lanky blonde man with eyes too clear, and whose bristling anger was not unlike Jim's. He had come in in an expensive suit, chin up, back straight, and never shown a sign of fear.

The other man, Jonathan Tucker, groaned.

“Simon, just calm down, it's not like we've been arrested. I'm sure this will go fine.”

He seemed like a nice man, with fluffy, thinning black hair and average features. He wore his work uniform, a blue shirt with the company's name on it and dirty black pants. His hands were washed but still calloused, with nails blackened with grime.

“I'm not sure about _fine,_ Tuck. In case you didn't follow, there's a serial killer out there and we're here to help find him. Now I don't know about you but I like _living_.”

That one was Marcy Sanders. She was a veterinarian - well, vet assistant - with long brown hair, a longer face, and the most worried attitude of the four. She kept peeking around, uneasy and pale.

“A guy who kills murderers and pedophiles?” Lamb piped in. “He's welcome to come to me, I'd like to shake his hand.”

“Simon!” Pamela snapped in a whisper. “Are you _crazy_?”

She looked around to check if any cop had heard Simon, forgetting that Sarah was standing not six feet away, just on the other side of a glass door.

“I'm not going to weep over some lowlifes”, Lamb said in a quieter voice.

“Well then _you should weep over the fact that he does it in Caddy's name!_ ”

There was a silence at that.

“I hate it!” Olsen continued. “It is wrong and I'm going to do _everything_ I can do to help the cops, because _this isn't right_. Caddy should rest in peace! _So are you with me here?_ ”

A new silence followed. Sanders nodded, so did Tucker. Lamb snorted. They stopped talking after that, and Alvarez took it as his cue to come back with Gordon and Bullock. As Collins, Carlos' partner, was not back from sick leave, Sarah joined them.

 

###

 

“So what do you think?” Sarah asked when the group interview was over.

They still had to talk to the four visitors one to one, but after two hours grilling them as a group, they had a better idea of their dynamics.

“I'm with Bullock and Gordon on Sanders and Tucker”, Carlos said. “Nice people, even if Sanders is clearly scared stiff of being here. As for Olsen, even if you discard the fact that she was here during yesterday's murder... The girl walked in in a _Popples_ T-shirt. She doesn't exactly strike me as killer material.”

“She encouraged the others to talk to us”, Sarah pointed out. “Tucker seems like the level-headed good guy of the lot. Sanders, I'm not so sure about. Now, what do you all think of Lamb?”

The three detectives exchanged glances. Gordon went first.

“Self-centered, cold as stone, leered at us for the whole two hours. He clearly has no issue praising our killer for his hits, either. Now, that makes him an unpleasant guy. A murderer, though? I'm not sure.”

Sarah turned to Bullock.

“What is your opinion?”

“He's a douchebag?”

Their captain took a deep breath and rolled her eyes.

“Carlos?”

“Being unpleasant does not make him a killer, but skipping work yesterday morning makes him a suspect. Especially considering that he spent the afternoon at his archery club, where I assume he learned to shoot things from a distance. So I say we see what the others have to say about him, and get a warrant to enter his house.”

“Amen to that.”

 

###

 

“Now what can you tell me about your friends, Jonathan?” Sarah asked.

Carlos was standing in the corner of the room, silent, but she preferred the nice, friendly approach. She was sitting in front of Tucker, a notepad and pen at the ready. She had put on her best smile. It had been a long time since she had last been a “detective”. She liked it. Maybe she even missed it.

The man scratched his neck, and smiled in confusion.

“Well, that depends, what is it that you wanna know?”

“Just small details on their personalities, the memories you have of them. How much they cared about Cadence Heller, too. What about Marcy?”

“Uh. You should ask Pam. Marcy... Marcy was never a talkative girl. She was Caddy's friend, and Pam's. Sure, I saw her a lot, but I can't remember ever hearing her _talk_. Mostly she'd sit with us and have her nose in a book or her head in the clouds. I know Pam was angry at her for a long long while, when she turned against Cadence. Can't say I blame Pamela.”

Sarah wrote all of that down.

“What about Pamela Olsen?” Carlos said.

“Pam? Sweetest kid ever. Not the sharpest pencil in the box, but she has twice the heart of a normal person. She was like a sister to Cadence. Threatened to kick me in the balls if I didn't treat her right, too. She calls every year for my birthday, too, she's just that kind of person. I don't even know hers.”

“And Simon Lamb?”

The man sighed at that.

“Well, Simon... He's a good guy, I suppose. I didn't keep in touch because I was a self-absorbed little cunt, but he used to be my best friend.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I suppose you know I'm a bit older than the others? I was out of school a year before them, I had a full time job. We drifted away in a matter of weeks. I still saw Simon, until he went and asked me if I would be okay with him dating my ex, namely Caddy. Well, I wasn't. So I punched him in the gut and we mostly stopped talking.”

 

###

 

“Now what can you tell me about your friends, Marcy?” Jim asked.

“Are we murder suspects?”

“I take it we're not going to get straight answers here?”

“Am I going to get straight answers?”

“No”, Harvey piped in.

“Well then, am I free to leave, or do I need to call a lawyer? I'm not saying a thing about them. They're good people.”

 

###

 

“So, Mister Lamb”, Carlos asked. “What can you tell me about your friends?”

“Pamela needs to start wearing adult clothes? Marcy's make up does not flatter her completion? It surprises me that Jonathan is balding? Be specific.”

Carlos took the seat next to Sarah's, and let himself be a teenager for a few seconds, as his tight 'accidentally' brushed hers. Years before, when she was still a detective, he had hoped to become her partner, but their captain back then had been an observant man. “Do you think I'm an idiot?” he had told Alvarez when he had mentioned the idea. “How do you expect notice anything on your cases if all you do is look at her ass?”

The old asshole had been right. Having her around was a distraction. Carlos looked up from their legs, where his eyes had strayed, and caught Lamb's stare. His mean smile left no doubt on whether or not he had caught Carlos' slip.

Self-righteous, arrogant, practising archery and gifted with a keen sense of observation. Alvarez wasn't a man to rely on his gut feeling only, but his every instinct screamed “that's your guy”.

“We only want a short description of their personalities and relationships with Cadence Heller”, Sarah said. “Please tell us about Pamela Olsen.”

The mean smile nearly faded, but you could still see it on Lamb's face, especially as he tilted his head and lifted his chin.

“Pam is a nice girl, you leave her alone.”

Carlos turned to Sarah, who was as tense as him. So she saw it too.

“What about Marcy Sanders?”

“I guess she's a decent woman, Cadence liked her well enough. I never really talked to her, though. She was the quiet type.”

“And Jonathan Tucker? You used to be best friends?”

“Yes. We had a falling out. He's a great guy. Me? Not so much. So we don't talk. I can safely say he will always be the nicest guy in a room, however.”

 

###

 

“So, Pam, can I call you Pam?” Harvey asked.

“Everyone calls me Pam. Of course you can call me Pam.”

“So, Pam, what do you think of your friends?”

“Are we in trouble? Is one of them?”

“Nope, not that I know. We're just doing our things here, closing all leads. So, what do you think of them?”

“I already told you, they're _good people_.”

The woman was getting frustrated, Jim noted. You could nearly hear the “ _I told you that over and over and over and over again how many times do I have to say it?_ ” that she didn't voice. In that mood, she reminded him very much of an angry toddler.

“Please understand that we have tons of paperwork to fill, Miss Olsen. This is only a matter of questioning all concerned parties to the best of our abilities, to have a solid case. We're not out to get you.”

Except Lamb. His attitude, his smile, those pale eyes of his... Everything in him raised Jim's hackles, and the detective could see he had the same effect on Essen, Alvarez and Harvey.

“What about Marcy?” he asked.

“I told you already. Our friend until she bailed on Cadence because she liked Andy. She was a teenager, though, I suppose you _can't_ blame her for that. Kids do stupid things.”

“Jonathan?”

“Tuck is the nicest guy ever. Cadence really liked him, too, I told you he used to be her boyfriend. I still call him every now and then, I don't think he changed much since your school years.”

“What about Simon? What was his relationship with Cadence?”

“He was a good friend, he didn't abandon her when everyone in sch... You're not suspecting Simon, are you?”

“As I was saying, Miss Olsen, we're just dotting the I's and crossing the T's. This is not about suspecting anyone.”

“I mean, he comes off as a bit cold. He's _grumpy_. Also, he has a temper. But he's a really, _really_ good guy. Ultra nice. He would have done anything for Cadence. He was something like her bodyguard when things went to hell. He'd walk her home, make sure she wasn't alone in the halls or at the cafeteria, defend her... You know, one day, two weeks after Caddy had gone to the cops, I think? The three of us were talking, and some girl just walks to us and screams “you lying whore” at Caddy and slaps her in the face. And Simon? He didn't even stop to think. He just punched that bitch square in the face, broke her nose, knocked her out. That got him suspended, and he would still walk to school every day so he could make sure Cadence was safe on her way home. He's a good guy.”

Jim looked at Harvey, who nodded. They had everything they needed.

“Thank you, Miss Olsen. That will be all.”

 

###

 

“Here's your warrant”, Sarah told her three detectives. “We're keeping Lamb in for further questioning.”

 

###

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's thanks the Kinks for the perfect drinking song, here.  
>  _If you feel down and you're under the weather_  
>  _Have another drink and you'll feel alright_
> 
> So. I'm still placing all my pawns for the Harvey/Jim thing. I know, I'm taking my bloody time, but it feels more and more like preparing a mah jong pyramid and not a chess board, here.


	8. Who by fire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to take my last duck, here, and put it in a row with the others. Last chapter of setting up the plot, people! :)

Simon Lamb got out of the bank he worked at, looked around, and walked to Jim's car with a look of unrestrained fury.

“This is _harassment_ ”, he snapped. “You have nothing on me! Do I have to write to every single person in charge to get you off my ass?”

Jim smiled.

“We were just passing by, Mister Lamb.”

“Don't get your panties in a bunch over it”, Harvey added from his seat. “I mean, this is a great spot to eat take out, what with the Chinese place around the corner.”

“It's been  _two weeks_ . I swear if you make me lose my job, I'll spend every unemployed hour with my finger on Gillian Loeb's doorbell.”

“You try that and see how long you last.”

Lamb threw him a scathing glance and stalked away. He climbed into his car, stalled twice as he tried to leave, then sped away, barely even bothering to remain on his lane. Harvey finished his noodles.

“We can't keep doing this”, Jim said. “He's right, we have nothing.”

Their warrant had been useless: despite an extensive search of Lamb's house, they hadn't found the slightest sign of illegal activities, let alone murder. No guns, no butterfly knives, no disposable phones, no newspapers more recent than ten days. Nothing. Not even one of Cadence's damn pin drums. The man was living a quiet, orderly life, going to work at nine, coming home at the same hour every day. His house was straight out of an IKEA catalog, all orderly, with black and white pictures on the walls and empty vases and pots used as decoration. He had filled the place with archery trophies, high finance books, and fantasy novels. The strangest thing in the place had been a picture of the guy disguised as Legolas for some kind of roleplay event.

Harvey lit a cigarette. It was the fourth in an hour, if Jim had counted them properly. He felt like snatching the pack to throw it across the street. He'd have to do that with the flask of vodka his partner seemed to refill at every opportunity, too.

“Yet now that we have a car tailing the guy, no more bodies drop”, the older man commented. “He's bound to snap and give us  _something_ .”

“Or he could, you know, give us nothing because he's not our guy.”

“Then we'll know that when we get the next victim, right?”

 

###

 

“Butch, the lights can go out if you want, but I swear if the  _clothes_ don't come off, I'm putting a stop to this. I  _need_ to touch you.”

There. Fish had tried ordering, pleading, teasing, seducing, and that hadn't worked, so all was left to use was the blackmail and the begging. It had been three weeks, three, and she considered it a personal victory that Gilzean had removed his jacket  _once_ . She had managed to loosen his tie a few times, even to get to the first button of his shirt, but the slight tremors that constantly coursed through him had devolved into frank shaking. While he  _could_ get his cock out of his pants, he flipped out if she as much as tried to go down on him.

_Zsasz would pay._

“I... Nah, boss, I'm a bit short on time today”, Butch lied with his best smile. “Just let me...”

_'Use my hands'_ , he didn't say. ' _Use my tongue. Make it up to you'._ She had heard it all, and the 'make it up to you' thing wasn't working so well. It was hard to be in the mood when worry was clutching your stomach like a cold fist. He was an apt liar, but she could see the shame on his face all the same, that feeling of inadequacy. She had no idea how to comfort him. Usually, when someone went weak, she would push them as far away as possible. Then again,  _usually_ , she didn't  _care_ .

She didn't remember who to express sincere affection. She couldn't recall having ever done so. She was so used to “ _I love you”_ 's being a lever and a blade that when she tried to utter the words, they didn't ring true. She had no idea how to let Butch know.  _How about you just tell him?_ He _tells you all the time._ And he had, early in, nestled against her back, pushing inside her in long, slow strokes.  _Fish, Fish, Fish, Fish._ Soft whispers, barely above a pant. _'love you. Years. Don't you know?_

She knew.

She put a finger on his lips.

“There's something I have to tell you.”

 

###

 

Jim stopped in front of Gotham General's entrance and took a deep breath of fresh air. Then he walked in. Hospitals had that smell about them that reminded him of brain cancer. And  _this_ place... Well, at least he was not going to the palliative care service this time, right? He still wished Barbara could be sent home, but the doctors had no intention of letting her go until she delivered. So, Jim went there every morning before work, and in the evening, if his workload allowed it. The “music box killer” case was not progressing, but there was no shortage of murders in Gotham.

He entered Barbara's room to find himself face to face with the last person he wanted to see. Renee Montoya was sitting next to the bed, handling magazines and chocolates to Barb'. She looked at him with a tense expression. He went from unease to seething hatred in a split second.

_Do not worry, stress out, or otherwise distress your pregnant and depressive ex-fiancée._

“Montoya”, he said with the friendliest smile he could manage. “It's been a long time.”

From the look on Barbara's face, he did not do such a good job with the “do not worry her” thing.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Renee asked.

She was already standing, and walked out, putting a hand on his shoulder to guide him along.

“You have a lot of nerve coming here”, he snapped once they reached the relative privacy of the staircase.

“Bullock called me, when Barbara was first admitted.”

“He  _what_ ?”

“Don't worry, he gave me a checklist. Namely, “don't be a cunt”, “don't be an underlined cunt”, and “don't be a pussy-licking cheating cunt of a dyke”. He got his point across. Now. I've been trying to contact you for days. I've called, I've left messages, but I guess you've been ignoring that. So I tried to call Bullock, who won't pick up, and Essen, who is very good at voicing “go to hell, bitch” without actually swearing.”

“Well you can quit trying, I'm not discussing Barbara with you. I know where she went when she l-”

“Stop right here. This is not about Barb', and frankly, if you can't see why she came to me, you need to pay better attention. This is about your  _case_ . Agnes Heller called me. Several times. She wants to know why you are going after Simon Lamb.”

 

###

 

Carlos followed Gordon, Montoya and Bullock into Sarah's office. He was not on the music box case anymore, not officially, but he still kept track of it. Now that Montoya had come forward to tell them she had worked on Cadence Heller's case, he was not going to miss what she had to say.

“I was a grunt back then”, she explained. “Close to Reyes, though, he was kind of a mentor to me. What you have to understand is that McGuire - his partner back them - had Alzheimer's, and... He could be fresh in the mornings, sometimes, if you were lucky, but mostly he was stuck in the forties and could not even figure out the precinct was not a school. So I ended up doing all of the heavy lifting on that case.”

Carlos looked at Jim, who was biting the inside of his cheeks, and to Bullock, who was looking out the window and pretended not to care.

“So what can you give us?” Sarah asked.

“I'd need to review Cadence's case, see if everything is in it. When both the girl and Howe died, our captain had us close it right on the spot. It was not going to get us an arrest, was it? I spent a lot of time with Cadence, I had pages of notes that I handed to Reyes at that point, I have no clue what he did with them.”

“I'll fetch the files for you”, Carlos said. “What is your take on Simon Lamb?”

“You think he's your guy?” Montoya asked back.

“No direct proof, but he has no alibi for either of the four murders, and the personality type checks out. Methodical, cold, angry, rancorous. An history of suspensions for assault in school. He's the most likely suspect, we're putting some pressure on him to see if he slips.”

She frowned.

“I don't know. I mean, I don't know if I can be very objective here. It's hard to think that of a boy you saw sobbing because the girl he loved to bits was dissolving. Yeah, he was a ball of rage when I met him. He had cause, too. I mean, he was absolutely, totally devoted to Cadence, and not only was the guy who had raped her going to walk away with it, she was being methodically destroyed by everyone around. Yes, he was fucking angry. So was I. Now, did he remain angry enough to go vigilante ten years down the line? Hard to tell. Who else did you look into?”

“The three others, Sanders, Tucker and Olsen. Not much to find, all of them busy during at least two of the murders, solid alibis. They seem horrified someone would do that in Cadence's name, too”, Gordon explained.

“Did you look into the first victim?”

“Uh, Brook? What about him?”

“No, not  _Brook_ . I meant the first girl Howe raped.”

They all stared at her in stunned silence.

“Holy hell, it wasn't in the file?” she swore. “So you don't know why Andrew Howe went after her?”

“No, we don't”, Jim answered in a clipped voice.

_Care to enlighten us?_

“He had drugged and raped a kid she knew. The girl wouldn't come forward, so Cadence went and threatened Howe. Two days later, he snatched her at gunpoint to 'teach her a lesson'.”

“ _Alright_ ”, Sarah cut in. “You're going over the whole story. Someone, write it down.”

Ten minutes later, Gordon was taking notes while Montoya recounted everything she could recall of the case.

“I was the one who took the girl's deposition, when she first walked in. It was right after Howe abducted her. He had kept her for four to five hours, then dropped her downtown, and she walked straight to SVU. Came in chin up but obviously shaken up. Reyes tried to talk to her first, but she nearly jumped out of her bones, so he got me to calm her down first. So we raced her down to the hospital once she told us what had happened, she got the whole set of tests, and from that point we knew nailing Howe would be difficult. The little bastard had been cautious. Everything had happened under duress, at gunpoint, so no bruising or any sign of brute force. And he had forced her to shower.”

Gordon wrote all of that down with an expression that went from dark to grim.

“Who had she told?” Carlos asked.

“No one. She went straight to the cops. We had to call her parents to tell them.”

“You said 'chin up'?”

“Yes. That girl was thought as nails. All she focused on was how we had to arrest Howe before he did it to another girl. What got to her was not the  _rape_ . It was the harassment that came after.  _That_ 's what pushed her to suicide.”

Sarah leaned in.

“How did that start?”

“Well, while our victim was in the hospital, Andrew Howe was eating burgers with his BFFs and telling them 'that strange girl from the school band came and asked me for a  _date_ . I... How do you guys go about saying no  _nicely_ ? Because she stormed off like she was furious'. You can guess how things went when we took him in the next day. And it wasn't just that. The boy was like a rock star in school. All the girls fancied him, and Cadence had said that he was cute in front of several other students. That was her burial.”

“We heard about bleach in her locker, aggressions in school?”

“There's that. They turned against her like a pack of wolves. Her car was keyed, they went after all four tires not once but three times, until the parents couldn't afford to replace them. Simon had to escort her from class to class so the others could not slap her or spit in her face. But  _that_ was not the bad part. The teachers protected her as much as they could, got some shit for it too, mostly car damage. No, the thing is the harassment happened out of school too. Pranks and random attacks. Bricks were thrown through the window of her parent's store, costing them thousands in damage. The kids listed their home number as a prostitute's in the classifieds. The cops were called on the house nearly every day for reports of domestic violence or drugs deals.” Renee breathed in. “I'm sorry. Can I pause here for, like, ten minutes?”

She didn't wait for an answer, just walked out and went straight to the coffee machine. Carlos followed her. She paced for a while, shaking with rage. He waited for her to calm down to get closer.

“Are you okay?”

She sighed.

“No. You know how I basically  _ran_ out of SVU? Couldn't wait to be transferred? That's the kind of perps you get. Mean, vicious monsters who go around destroying people just for kicks. Cases like that... Let's say I was not surprised when Reyes ODed. It eats away at your soul.”

“I get that.”

“ _Do you?_ ”

She paused, and looked at him.

“Sorry”, she said. “Of course you do, that wasn't fair.”

“This one was particularly rough.”

“I could have  _shot_ that boy”, she admitted. “Him, or another of those smug assholes. If I had not transferred, it was only a matter of time before I snapping and going rogue. Just being there and watching it all and you can do  _nothing_ ...”

Alvarez prepared himself a cup of coffee and said nothing. Montoya took a few deep breaths and gradually calmed down. They went back to Sarah's office.

“Another thing I need to explain”, Renee said as soon as she opened the door, “is that Reyes did all he could to crack the Howe kid, put the fear of God into him. But here we have a major case of 'the apple didn't fall far from the tree', because his father covered for him. Lied for him, lawyered up, and  _worse_ , went after the girl. He attempted to sue her for slander, infliction of emotional distress, anything he could pin on her. He didn't just want her to drop it, it was a full blown attempt at destroying her reputation and putting the whole family on the street. So write down Gregory Howe as a fucking sociopath, if you please.”

By that point, no one in the room could have formulated a comment. It was one of those clenched jaw, closed fist situations where no one wanted to  _talk_ .

“About that other girl. A bit after Cadence was sent to the psych ward, she talked to me. Told me she had caught Howe walking away from a room at a party. She looked in, found a girl half passed out with her panties on the floor. That victim did not want to go to the police, so Cadence went to Andrew to give him a piece of her mind. Didn't mention that girl to us at all before that point, and she kept saying 'I won't give you a name, she does not want people to know'. I still looked into it. I talked to most of the girls in her year and the one below, if their parents would allow it. No one would admit to anything.”

“We'll look into that. That girl would be an adult now and there's water under the bridge. Maybe she would admit it. It can't be one of her two friends? Marcy or Pamela?”

“They were the first I asked, both said no. Pam was very helpful all along, I don't think she would have lied, she was already taking some heat for sticking with Cadence. Marcy is more of a scaredy-cat, so I wouldn't discard the possibility.”

“Alright”, Jim said. “So we have a victim who was a bit of a hero, stood up for a fellow victim, did her best to try and get the guy arrested. Now, considering the vigilante is killing in her name, what would  _she_ think of what he does?”

Renee pursued her lips.

“I talked to her a lot, mostly about Howe. You know what she told me, two days before she hung herself?  _People reap what they sow._ ”

 

###

 

The club's attendance seemed to have improved, Jim thought. When he had walked in with Harvey, a month before, the place was nearly empty. Now, it was crowded with people, a band was playing some decent music, and the booze was flowing.

He waited at the entrance, not pleased to be there, but knowing he had delayed the visit long enough already. Oswald's look of bewildered surprise, just before his expression turned to glee, confirmed that impression.

“Jim, my friend! How nice of you to visit!” he called, limping to him.

That broken leg had set itself at an angle, and Gordon had no idea how the young man managed to walk without as much as wincing. The pain should have been excruciating.

“Are you in need of my assistance?” the criminal asked.

_Of course he would think that._

“No. You invited me... Quite a while ago, I suppose, but I have been very busy. Still. Here I am.”

Cobblepot opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly delighted but unable to come up with words. He gestured towards one of the tables.

“Please take a seat. Bruno. Get a bottle of our finest wine. This is an _occasion_.”

The cop sat and did not grimace. He did not quite manage to smile, so a neutral expression would have to do. Just enough of a follow-up to make sure the kid did not suspect Harvey had dragged them to the club to help Fish Mooney. Cobblepot was clearly suspicious of _something_ , considering how many armed men were spread in the room.

“Why the guards?” Jim asked.

“I. Ah. I suppose I might as well tell you. Fish Mooney is back in town”, Oswald replied, midway between loathing and fear. “I have deemed it necessary to take some precautions.”

“Are you sure? I heard nothing about it.”

“I-I figured your partner would have kept you informed. They were such _great friends._ ”

Jim kept his tone casual.

“I doubt he knows. Just yesterday, he was ranting about no reliable informants since she had been run out of town.”

Cobblepot paused and turned that sentence over in his mind with such a focused, distrustful look that the blonde felt himself grow cold. There was nothing that could compromise Harvey in those words, was there?

“Well, I don't know about d-detective Bullock, but _you_ know you only have to ask. I would provide you with any information you need.”

“I'm well aware”, Jim replied, as collected as he could.

He felt like his skin was itching. He endured that, though, allowing a waiter to serve them both a glass of wine. He listened to Oswald bragging about the club, detailing the kind of work it took to get it running again. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Butch Gilzean, standing next to the bar. The man was looking at him with a cold, scathing expression.

Then, the shooting started. Cobblepot had thrown himself to the floor and all but crawled under the table before anyone could even react to the arrival of half a dozen armed men.

“GIVE US PENGUIN”, one of them ordered.

Then the club's men started to shoot, so did the intruders, and Jim had no choice but to join the fray. Gabe, Oswald's favorite henchman, was the first to fall. A few more followed, but the assailants were outnumbered, and were quickly dealt with. The civilians were terrified and screaming, but none of them seemed to be harmed, which was _one_ good thing.

Jim looked around, and found Cobblepot curled into a ball against the wall.

“Are you h-”

“Kid, are you hurt?” Gilzean cut in, dragging Oswald to his feet.

The younger man was fine, though terrified. Butch's arm was bleeding, his vest torn at the shoulder. Now, he had been standing at the bar, and...

Jim looked back to the unbroken bottles along the wall.

“Let's get you out of here”, Gilzean was telling Penguin.

“Where's Gabe?”

“Gabe is dead, come on, let's go.”

Gordon looked back at Fish's first right-hand man and knew instantly the man had shot himself in the arm - a grazing shot - so he could look trustworthy and get his target to follow him out, straight into the arms of Fish Mooney. The shooting had been a distraction.

“GCPD”, he screamed, placing a hand on Oswald's shoulder. “Nobody move.”

 

###

 

“How is it that you always, always end up in gunfights?” Harvey asked the next morning.

The mobsters Jim had brought in for questioning had been sent on their way or to their cells, depending on who they knew. Penguin had calmed down enough not to blindly listen to Gilzean, and had left escorted by two of his own men.

“Beats me.”

“I told you not to go to the club.”

“You knew Fish Mooney would make a move.”

“Jimbo. The lady went after Penguin _right after_ escaping Falcone, she was not gonna let it go. It was only a matter of time.”

“Don't you pull the 'everyone knew' card. You went in there and gave Gilzean a fucking message. Now we have eight dead guys and, as far as I know, you helped them get killed.”

“No I didn't, and I seriously don't give a shit about a few henchmen getting their due. Now if you-”

The phone rang, and Harvey picked up, frowning in exasperation. His expression turned to surprise, then satisfaction.

“Lamb snapped”, he announced. “Walked into his office, was escorted out with a box of his possessions, crossed the street, and started kicking the car we'd set on him. My guy here says he's liable to get three to six months for assaulting an officer.”

 

###

 

Sarah pushed the last of her boxes into her new flat, then walked to her new kitchen and collected a bowl of cookies and a bottle of sprite. She brought all of that to the children's bedroom, were Carlos was attempting to assemble one of the beds, with Harvey's grudging help. They were the last two friends who had remained to help her move. They had been ten in the morning, but everyone had lives, and those who didn't had cases.

“Thank you so much for this.”

“ _Soda_? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“There's beer in the fridge, Harvey. I'll bring it as soon as it has cooled down a bit.”

“I'll take one too”, Carlos grunted, focused on the screw he was attempting to lodge into place.

His T-shirt had lifted, exposing his lower back, the curve of his spine, and a few beauty marks. Sarah looked away in guilt. _You can stare_ , she told herself to fight that feeling. _You're no longer married._ It did not work.

“You should have done what Jim did and rented a furnished room”, Harvey commented a bit later, at the kitchen table, after he'd been provided with a beer and a slice of pizza.

“Didn't you just tell me Jim's place is smaller than yours? You have no idea how much space little girls take.”

“Well, I don't know, one in the fridge and the other in a suitcase, and you'll still have room to spare.”

Carlos choked on his drink. Much to Sarah's own surprise, she felt herself smile, and chuckle, and then laugh to tears.

 

###

 

Sal patted his housekeeper's ass. She was a lovely young redhead with perky boobs and everything else nice and fine, and he had greatly enjoyed her competences for two years now. He deeply regretted expecting a visit just as she had started to clean his office, but it couldn't be helped.

“You run along”, he said. “Business appointment.”

The girl hurried out just as Fish Mooney arrived, escorted in by two of her men and four of his. The contrast was stark and the comparison was not in Fish's favor.

“We're going to have to discuss the job you volunteered to do, since you're so intent on fucking it up totally. I'm done financing you. This went on for too long with no results.”

“Oh, come on, Sal'”, she said in a charming tone. “How was I to expect that the _only_ honest cop in Gotham would be there for my raid? It's not like he hangs out there every day.”

“Well, it might be shit luck, it might be a lack of preparation, the thing is: I don't care. Falcone is pissed, there's a lot of scrutiny coming my way, so I'm out. Now, Fish, I have a question. Do you think I'm a good businessman?”

“You lead the next-to-strongest family in town, of course I believe you are a good businessman.”

“So you'll understand that I cannot, in good sense, lose some excellent business opportunities? There's nothing personal it it, really. Business is business.”

For the first time in maybe twenty years, if ever, he saw fear in her eyes.

His men shot her men, the sound deafening in the closed room, and he had the satisfaction of seeing her jump, even if she immediately straightened up, chin raised, face closed.

“So this is how it will be?” she said.

“I'm afraid so. Nice working with you.”

 

###

 

Jim arrived at work, a grin on his face, and walked to his desk.

“Aren't you in a good mood today?” Essen called from her office door, smiling at him. “Come in, I need an update on your case.”

He followed her in, still unusually happy, and managed not to lose his cheerfulness as he recounted the grisly murder of two tourists and their dog.

“So how did that ultrasound go?” Sarah asked.

“Well! They're not ruling out developmental issues after birth, but so far the baby looks perfectly healthy, which is much better than what we could expect.”

“Good, very good. Are you ever going to tell us if it's a boy or a girl?”

“Boy. It's a boy.”

“Congra-”

“Sarah, we have a problem”, Carlos cut in as he threw himself into the room. “An informant just called me. Falcone got his hands on Fish Mooney. He executed her.”

Essen blanched. Gordon sighed, his mood darker, but he was not overly concerned. Not until Sarah replied, anyway.

“ _Where. Is. Harvey?_ ”

There was a gap before his brain caught on to that, a few seconds of blankness, then months of memories flooded in in a cold, stark, brutal realization. Months before, when Fish Mooney had vanished, he had ever so slightly mentioned the topic, that _thing_ Harvey had with Fish, and the answer he had received had been “I don't have a thing for nobody, my thing is for me”. And Jim hadn't pushed, and he hadn't thought about it.

_You should have asked, you should have asked, you should have ASKED!_

It was plain on Sarah's face what that thing was. It was plain on Carlos' when he answered “he's not in yet”.

_How did you not know that?_

Sarah grabbed her phone and dialled - Jim supposed - Harvey's number.

“Please call me back _now_ , Harvey, you're needed at the precinct”, she said when she hit his voicemail. Then she tried another number.

What was it that Harv' had told him?

_Your problem is not with addicts, it's with people. You don't pay attention._

_You need to pay better attention._

His stomach twisted and knotted in fear and his skin went cold, because if Harvey loved Fish Mooney, there was only one place he could be now.

“You check his flat”, he told Sarah. “Carlos, you get his working girl friends. I'll find him. I'll find him.”

And he started running.

 

###

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess now is the point I confess to randomly improvising the whole music box killer thing as a filler, so no one would pay attention to Fish's plotline. 
> 
> Tehee.


	9. Catch me now I'm falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took me 32314 words to reach the _first_ scene I had planned to write for this story. And I wonder why I never fail the nanowrimo.

_Jim Gordon, you are an asshole._

There was something to be said about the way Jim had not even _considered_ that Harvey could have been something to Fish. He had seen, very clearly seen, that the man had a crush on her, a _thing_ , but Harvey wasn't one to pine over someone, was he? He couldn't be more than fond of her, and her games. As for Fish, she had to be toying with him, wrapping her around her finger, never giving anything more than hope.

_Because she was so clearly out of his league. You condescending, judgemental bastard._

Then it turned out the first name Sarah thought about at the mention of Fish Mooney's death was Harvey. And it turned out that _thing_ was deep and old and so fucking blatant if you looked at the way Bullock had been acting around Fish, the way _she_ had touched him and gone to him when she was down on her knees.

The last time Jim had driven that fast, it had been in the desert, hostiles tailing his team.

_You should have asked, you should have asked, you should have asked. You say you are his friend but you know nothing about him. You never cared._

He stopped under Falcone's front door, and as no one had stopped him on the way, he knew he had come to the right place. Harv' could be a cold and efficient bastard when he set his mind to something. Jim took his shotgun and walked in. He cleared a room, empty. Next one, two men knocked out and bleeding, tied to the radiator. No gunshot wounds, just broken noses and contusions. Next one, nothing. Next one, one more guy, jaw broken, would live. Then some more locked in the basement, awake enough to shout and bang against the reinforced door.

_Harvey, be alive._

After that, it was empty room after empty room, and the knot in Jim's stomach turned to solid stone. Then he heard Carmine Falcone's quiet and composed voice, a few doors away.

“... not just about you, is it? Eight, nine years ago, I would have said: go ahead. Shoot me. You have nothing to lose. But now? People have that way to wrap themselves around you, don't they? Even if you never quite wanted them to, nor hoped they would. Then it turns out that one of them has two lovely young girls, whom she would miss very much. As a parent myself, _don't I know that?_ Then you have that young prostitute you didn't really _want_ to save from her boyfriend, did you? And she's leading such a dangerous life.”

Jim walked to that door as quietly as he could, and peeked in.

Falcone was preparing tea with the calm of an Englishman. Harvey had a gun to his head.

“The thing with families is that they grow organically”, the crime lord said. “You can add more and more to them. Should you subtract, though, those who remain _lash out_. So, I wonder, is _your_ family ready for the punishment _mine_ will dole out? Who could prevent a zealous nephew of mine to drown two small girls or to find Jim Gordon and to take him down?”

Jim walked in.

“I think I'll do fine for myself.”

Carmine turned and faced his shotgun without a sign of fear. Bullock didn't say a word, didn't stop watching Falcone for a single second. Gordon took a few more steps.

“Harvey, drop the gun.”

No answer.

_Please._

“ _Harvey!_ Drop. The. Gun.”

“You go and get lost.”

Falcone seemed to have understood that talking now _would_ get him a bullet through the skull. Harvey would have shot him just to spite Jim, in that state, and irritating him further would have been a fucking stupid idea.

“Please drop the gun”, Jim insisted.

When Harv' replied, his voice was raw and hard and broken.

“Don't you ask this from me.”

The blonde kept inching closer. He knew he had reached his partner now, a foot in the door, pushing through his barriers.

“Please.”

“Don't you ask _this_ from me.”

“Harv'...”

“ _Don't you ask this from me.”_

It reminded Jim of that day he had been reinstated, Harvey telling him something over and over again, in all sorts of tones. _“You think you've been careful so far? You_ think _you've been_ careful _so far?”_

_I'm sorry I have to do this to you._

“Please drop the gun. I'll handle this. Please, partner.”

Harvey threw his weapon to the floor. Falcone smiled for a second, calmly confident, but Jim whirled to him.

“Carmine Falcone”, he said, reaching for his handcuffs. “You're under arrest for the murder of Maria Mooney. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”

 

###

 

Victor returned to the mansion with an unpleasant sense of foreboding.

Fish Mooney was dead, by Carmine's hand (his errant daughter, he had said). She had been shaking with rage up to the end, and while she had not said a word, she had spat at her “father”'s face. Not that such an indignity could have fazed Don Falcone.

Victor had been sent to the club to collect Butch Gilzean before he could hear the news. The pathetic little creature had been gone when he arrived. Oswald Cobblepot had left for Don Falcone's, he “had been called there”. Zsasz had returned to the mansion to find every man incapacitated, Don Falcone vanished, and a whole different person sitting in his chair, using his phone.

“Anthony, my _friend_ ”, Oswald was cajoling his interlocutor. “I seem to recall you owe me quite a few favours. It's time for me to call one in. I know it's short notice, so I am willing to forget about all of the others, if you just _hurry_.”

Victor walked to the desk, silent, and listened to the instructions the young man was giving. Since it didn't imply taking out major players in the family, he did not feel too concerned. Anthony seemed to accept the terms, for Oswald thanked him profusely and hung up.

“Don Falcone has been arrested”, he explained.

Zsasz blinked at this outlandish announcement. It made so little sense that it did not even deserve a “what?”.

“By Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock”, Penguin clarified.

 _Oh_.

Now that was more like it. _Jimjimjimjim_. Victor pushed down the hunger and considered his options. _Who will live? Who will die? What should you do? What would Carmine allow?_

Did he have to punish the two cops? Could he go after Gordon again ( _please_ )? He wanted Jim cut up and bleeding in his basement, blade lovingly pushed in-

“My good, good f-friend”, Oswald said, walking around the desk to come and grab his wrist.

He was shaking and stuttering as he always did, sweaty with fear and pain. _That leg, walk on it some more. Show it to me_.

“I k-know f-freeing dear Don Falcone may seem like the most urgent matter, but it is not a necessity. The police has n-neither body nor probable cause. L-likewise, g-going after Gordon w-would be counterproductive. W-we have more important matters to attend to.”

Victor snorted and shook his hand away. Oswald looked at it and wet his lips.

“G-give me your arm”, he ordered.

“Why now, creep?” Victor answered, holding it to the man all the same, because he knew that glint in his eyes promised _joy_.

Cobblepot rolled his sleeve up, inch by inch, revealing his scars.

“My, my, my”, Oswald said with delight, and that stutter was gone and forgotten. “Now, Gilzean's men? The ones that Don Falcone has... Invited, a few weeks ago? How many were they? Nine?”

He got that dirty little blade of his, brown with rust and blood, out of his pocket, and started cutting into Victor's arm. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

“And Gilzean, of course”, Oswald added with a dark chuckle. “Fish's creature to the bone.”

 

###

 

The moment that prostitute friend of Harvey had walked into the club and asked for an audition, Butch had _known_. The girl had not been wearing her usual getup, but he had recognized her easily all the same. Oswald, not so much, though Gilzean did not doubt the little snitch had done his homework on Bullock's close friends. The boy had let her walk to Butch, because he was the one who knew best how to deal with the endless flood of “untalented beggars”.

“I had a song prepared”, she had said.

At that point, Butch had still been trying to delude himself, but he knew, he _knew_.

“What song?”

“Full of fire, by Blondie.”

That had ripped through him like a jagged knife. It wasn't the correct title, of course. The real title was _Maria_ and it was her favorite song. _Fool for love and full of fire_.

“I don't know that one. Let me hear it?” he had said, with Penguin ten steps away not having any idea of the underlying meaning of it all.

“She moved like she didn't care, smooth as silk, cool as air”, Vivian had sung.

 _She moves like she don't care_.

“Ooooh, it made you wanna cry.”

 _Makes you_. As a matter of fact, it did. But death happened in their line of business. You moved on.

“She didn't know your name, and your heart beat like a subway train, oooh, it made you wanna die...”

 _Doesn't. Beats_. _Makes_.

“Your voice isn't bad. Thank you.” - _Thank_ Bullock _for that warning, so much better than a surprise visit from Zsasz._ \- “What about I give you a list of songs more fitting to the club's mood, so you can practice them and come back to try more formally?”

She had nodded, and he had walked her to the door, and himself to his car.

 

###

 

Jim had pushed Carmine into the precinct with clenched teeth and a hand on his gun. Three dozen baleful glares had turned to him as word of who he had brought in travelled, but he did not give a damn. The only cold, hateful look he had cared about had been burning into his back and had come from Harvey.

“Handle this”, his partner had murmured, vanishing into the locker room.

Jim had pushed Falcone into a cell.

“This was nicely done”, the old man had commented.

“If you fancy keeping your brains inside your skull, you'll make good use of that right to remain _silent_ thing”, Gordon had snapped, abandoning him there to race to Sarah's office.

“That was the best I could do”, he explained to the captain. “I saw no other way to walk out of there with Falcone alive. It's a fucking miracle Harv' didn't shoot his way through the place already.”

“So what do we do, now?” Alvarez asked.

He seemed grafted to Essen's hip, lately. More than usual.

“Now we prepare for the worst”, Sarah said. “And we don't bend.”

Jim stared at her. Sarah helped at times, but she had always been cautious, and ready to give up on the hardest tasks if she felt there was no hope to be had. He had half-expected her to free Falcone on the spot.

“Go to Harvey”, she said. “Make sure he holds on. We'll manage this.”

He nodded and ran down the stairs. He still stopped when Sarah walked to the balcony and addressed the bullpen.

“Alright everyone!” she called. “I know some of you want to go home, that some of you have families to think about. You can go. For the others, if you remember that we are _homicide_ and are willing to stand behind a rightful arrest for _murder_ , you're welcome to stay!”

 

###

 

Sarah returned to her office and called Michael.

“Collect the girls and your mother and get out of the house _now_. Come to the precinct. No, not to the precinct. You...”

“What happened?”

“Please just listen to me and get the girls out of the house, you may be targets. Go t-”

Someone snatched her phone. She turned, furious, and Carlos raised a hand to silence her.

“Michael, this is Alvarez. I believe you are four blocks away from the Royal Hotel. You go there right now. My wife will be waiting for the four of you in the lobby, I'm on my way to come and collect you. Start moving.”

He hung up.

“What are you d-”

“I'll go there and make sure they're safe. Mary has a weapon and works two minutes away from the Royal Hotel, it's a public place, they have trained guards, it's the best option I see.”

He immediately turned away, which was his way to let her know he wouldn't deviate from that course of action, no matter how irrationally furious she was and the arguments she would raise.

“Be careful”, she said.

He nodded and left. She took a second to collect herself and returned to the bullpen. It was half-empty, but the walkout had not been as general as when Zsasz had come after Jim. Probably, she thought, because the cause of their issues was not Jim, this time. Those who had stayed were the oldest cops, those who owed Harvey a little something. No doubt they would consider their debts to be paid, after this.

Falcone was sitting in his cell, looking up at her with a quiet smile. She tore her eyes away from him and walked down the stairs, counting her men. A child's voice made her turn to one of the corners of the room, where she found Vivian - one of Harvey's prostitute friends - sitting with a small girl and an older woman. From what Carlos had told Sarah, he had not found her - which meant she had come in on her own - and Marsha had refused to follow him. Tanya was out of town. As for Natalia, she had walked into the precinct a little after Jim left. “Harvey told me to get my ass to safety”, she had explained.

Sarah looked around for the young woman, and found her pacing a few meters away from Falcone's cell. The man was looking at her, and their eyes caught every now and then. He gestured at her to come nearer. Natalia went still with fear. Sarah crossed the room.

“Come on here, young lady”, Carmine told the working girl. “You seem to have some concerns to voice and I'm not one to lash out at civilians for speaking their minds.”

Natalia shook her head, but he held out his hand and waited until she walked to him.

“Now, what is it that has you so agitated?”

“Did you really kill Miss Mooney?”

“That's a very bold accusation but - I'm afraid - an unfounded one. I'm sure things will be clarified very soon.”

The woman pinched her lips and remained silent for a time.

“Can I say something you won't like?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“This is not a _threat_. This is not an insult. I'm not saying you deserve that. This is _all_ about Miss Mooney, alright? Not about you. It's... I owed her. I owed her a _lot_.”

“I promise not to be offended, Miss.”

“She would have deserved to put you down.”

“This... Is a very candid comment”, he said, chuckling.

“I met her long ago. She told me about her past.”

Falcone sighed.

“Maria has a great many stories about her mother. I'm curious, which sordid version of her death did she give you?”

She dismissed that answer with a shrug.

“She barely mentioned her Ma'. What she told me, though, was about when she worked for her _dad_.”

Sarah watched, stunned, Falcone's face as it stilled for a moment. His mask slipped back on in a matter of seconds, but his skin had gone pale. Whatever _that_ had meant to him, it had shaken him to the bone.

 

###

 

Jim walked into the locker room, and found it devastated. The lockers Harvey had not thrown to the floor were dented and kicked in. The man was hunched over one of the standing ones, and was punching it, over and over again. His partner inched closer. Bullock turned to him, shaking with fury.

“You _son of a bitch_ ”, he said.

Jim opened his mouth, thought better of it, and dodged the first blow Harvey threw at him instead. He had to block the second one, both hands against a punch to the stomach, and it still sent him reeling. If it had been anyone else - well, anyone lighter - he would have let the punches land. Bullock needed it. But taking _those_ hits was a foolproof way to end up with broken bones and internal bleeding. So Jim dodged and blocked and keeled over when he could not, but got to his feet instantly, lip split, and kept going.

He ended up cornered at the end of the room, and Harvey grabbed his shoulders to bash him against the wall, twice. When he saw Jim couldn't breathe, he relented, but his whole frame was still shivering with barely contained rage. The corner of his mouth was twitching.

“You had no fucking right”, he growled. “He deserved it. He bloody deserved it.”

Jim reached for his shoulder, grabbed it, rubbed it.

“Yeah. Yeah, he did. But you're not a _killer_. You're a _good man_.”

His partner's answer started as a whisper and ended as a shout.

“ _What the fuck do you KNOW?”_

“Harv...”

“You think I would have escorted you to shoot Cobblepot without even blinking if I had not done it before? You think I never did any hits for the mob? You think I'm a fucking saint like you? _You don't know me at all._ ”

It took a moment for that to sink in - “I did it before” - even though he had suspected that, and a distant part of his mind told him to walk away. _He's not worthy._ Jim didn't quite agree with that. He tightened his grasp on Harvey's shoulder.

“That was then”, he said, as softly as he could.

The older man shuddered, panting, and didn't move. Then the pants grew louder, closer to moans, and his face crumpled as the anger left him. His knees gave in and he sank to the floor, burying his face against Jim as long, hard sobs started to shake his whole body. He grabbed his back and pulled him closer, and Jim felt his own stomach twist in raw pain and worry. _God._ He felt to his knees and pulled Harvey up, so his forehead would rest on his shoulder. Jim could feel every broken gasp and sob brush the skin of his neck. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer.

In time, Harvey's shaking receded, his sobs died down. Jim, who felt _ill_ , so damn worried _sick_ , kept stroking his back.

Then Harv' raised his head and kissed him. He should have expected it - of course he should have - but it had somehow slipped his mind that it was the only kind of warmth his friend would know, and that he would _need_ warmth. He jumped back, startled. Harvey breathed in, looked at him, found no disgust, and tried again. Jim didn't hesitate, this time. He grabbed him by the neck and kissed him back.

He wished he was better at this. Some people had that way to _comfort_ people, to help them, to give them warmth so pure the cracks in their souls felt like they had vanished. Jim had none of those things, though, so he climbed on Harvey's tights and let his shirt be pulled up, let hands slide across his naked back. And he kissed him, over and over again, burying a hand in his partner's hair, exploring his chest with the other. He let his belt be unbuckled and the buttons of his shirt be undone, he let lips kiss his shoulder and clavicle. As long as it could help, _anything_.

Then the door opened.

 

###

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Catch me now I'm falling" is, of course, a song by the Kinks.


	10. I took my baby home

Jim stilled when he heard the doorknob turn. Harvey's first reflex was to cover him, pulling his shirt down, placing his arm so that Jim's unbuttoned pants were hidden. The younger man turned to the door and saw it open ever so slightly as Sarah slipped in without directly peeking inside. She kept her face turned - though she quickly glanced at them - and cleared her throat. Obviously, she had known what to expect.

_Well then maybe she should not have come in_ , a part of Jim said. Another screamed ' _How the hell did she know?'_ and another still pointed out  _'Yeah, so thinking no one would read you in a detective unit? Brilliant'_ .

Mostly, he wanted her to leave.

“Jim, I, uh, sorry about this but you're needed outside. Someone _demands_ to talk to you. He says you called.”

_Bloody hell_ . He had forgotten.

“I-I... Yes. I'll be right there”, he said in a voice that didn't sound like his at all. “Just a moment, please?”

She nodded and left. He tried to catch Harvey's eyes, but his partner was looking down, breathing hard. Jim's hand was still on his neck, the other still on his shoulder. He did not feel like moving away. He let his thumb caress Harvey's neck.

“I have to go. Ten minutes at most. I'm coming back. Want me to send your friend in? Natalia?”

The older man shook his head.

“Ten minutes”, Jim repeated.

“I can survive without a babysitter, asshat.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A few moments passed. The blonde didn't move, and Harvey ended up raising his head.

“Planning to get up this century?”

Jim jumped to his feet.

“Right.”

He fumbled with his shirt and belt, while his partner slowly stood up.

“Ten minutes”, he said again, unwilling to leave.

“Don't make me kick you out”, Harvey replied in a voice devoid of any kind of emotion.

At least the words sounded like him. Jim left.

 

###

 

The police had been preparing for war. Thus, Oswald had walked in with an army. Sarah Essen had not expected it would be made of _lawyers_ , obviously, but the people in Gotham seemed to lack any kind of forward-thinking.

He had let the men of law do what they did best, and asked for Jim. His phonecall - “How quickly can you be at Falcone's?” - had been a pleasant surprise. It wasn't quite a request for  _help_ . A disaster had to be averted. The  _city_ needed help. Maybe. The cop had been unclear on the exact details, but Oswald had been enlightened when he had arrived at Don Falcone's mansion, just in time to see Gordon drive away with Carmine in the backseat of his car. A quick look at the place's security tapes had told him all he needed to know. Then... Well, he had Jim to thank for a few precious minutes alone in the house. All of that, put together with the news of Fish's death? This was a most fantastic day.

“Did you handle things?” Jim said as he arrived, too tense for greetings and politeness.

Oswald turned and nearly swallowed his tongue.

Well. When Essen had insisted Gordon was busy, he had not imagined what the cop could have been doing. Well, he had, but he had not quite pictured what was obvious from Jim's crumpled clothes, and from the smeared blood across his cheek, courtesy of his split lip and someone else's.

Oh, _Jim_. Had Oswald known, he would have waited. He filed Harvey Bullock with Leslie Thompkins and Barbara Kean in a corner of his mind.

“I-I did my best. M-Minimal bloodshed, as y-you asked. I d-doubt there would have been much to begin with, but one is never t-too careful. You were right to call me, my friend.”

“What did you do exactly?”

“Ah. A few minor, minor things. I m-made sure Victor Zsasz was kept busy with security issues.” - It was technically true. Gilzean was a dangerous wild-card. - “I also caused a some minor traffic congestion around the Bowery, so the comings and goings of Maroni's men could be monitored. As for the m-men at the top, they are wiser than you give them credit for. T-they would not have attempted a thing with Carmine simply _arrested_. What I feared the most were the actions of some hot-blooded family members. But... With the people in charge properly warned that the situation is under control... There should be no outbursts.”

Jim nodded, thought about it, nodded again, then thought some more.

“Thanks.”

He looked away to the door he had come from, Adam's apple bobbing once, twice, and Oswald took note of his distraction, the way he nervously bit his bleeding lip, the way he shook his head to snap out of his trance.

“I won't keep you any longer, my friend. I suspect my... Protector will be set free in a matter of minutes. Maybe detective Bullock should make himself scarce?”

Oswald also took note of Gordon's fury at that. When the cop walked back to the locker room instead of racing to Carmine's cell, he smiled to himself. _Ah_. How he loved the ones who wore their hearts on their sleeves.

 

###

 

Carlos walked to Michael, ready for war. He was also prepared for a hit from the mob, but hoped he could avoid _that_.

Sarah's husband - ex-husband - was sitting in the lobby of the Royal Hotel, surrounded by his two daughters and his mother. Mary was pacing around them, with all the mannerisms of a cop on patrol, even though it had been years since she had moved on from that job. She saw him first and came up to him to greet him with a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pressed his lips to hers, didn't open them. They only bothered to do that in bed, really.

“Nothing suspicious?” he asked.

“Bowery paralysed. We saw it on the new. Three separate trucks crashed on the major arteries, it's a clusterfuck. Here, though? Nothing out of the norm.”

“Good.”

“Are we going to have a talk about how Sarah Essen is no longer married?”

She had not unwrapped her arms, and for all intents and purpose, to someone watching them, they looked intimate enough. It helped that Mary was not tense, nor surprised, nor even mildly disappointed. Her loathing for Sarah had turned into quiet acceptance years before.

“Not now.”

“But we will, won't we? I'm sure you were planning to.”

_Yes_ .

“Not now.”

That earned him a quick peck on the lips. Still no strife. They had torn each other apart about those issues year prior, each trying to lay the blame on the other's shoulders. _“You slept with another man”. “Well, you went and_ fell in love _with someone else, I'm sorry I took that poorly!”_

They were done caring.

Mary moved away, and Carlos turned to Michael, who was waiting to be noticed.

Sofia, Sarah's eldest and a replica of her mother, with that mass of black curls, looked up to her father to know what she was to think of Alvarez. He saw her absorb all the dislike, if not hatred, Michael was barely keeping hidden.

_Why is it that the exact moment Michael met you, he_ knew _, yet you work with Sarah every single day and had no problem hiding it from her?_

“So what did Jim Gordon do this time?” the man asked.

Carlos shook his head.

“Long story, it’s not really on Gordon. Let’s move. My van is just outside.”

“Where are we going?”

“Safe house for witnesses, a place I trust”, the cop replied, walking to the exit.

Mary made sure everyone followed him, and closed the march. Michael grabbed Anna by the waist and threw her, laughing, over his shoulder. Carlos might not have liked him much, but he was a good father. If he was afraid, he made sure his girls could not see it. For all intents and purposes, to them, this was a little road trip.

 

###

 

Barbara listened to Renee’s pleasant small talk about the silliness of police TV shows (“Except The Wire, I guess that one is decent”), and politely pretended she could not see her friend check her phone at every opportunity. Worse, she was wearing her holster and regularly patting it. The blonde’s nerves could only take so much, though.

“What happened?” she ended up asking. “Did Jim do something?”

_I swear if he did I’m getting transferred to any hospital in Canada._

Renee jumped.

“You’ve been here for two hours at noon on a weekday”, Barb pointed out. “You keep going for your weapon. I’m not _blind_.”

“It’s… Complicated. I don’t have all the details. Homicide arrested Don Falcone.”

“Homicide?”

“Alright. Jim arrested Don Falcone.”

And had given her no warning. _Jim Gordon, I hate, hate,_ hate _you._

Barbara’s anger faded in a second to be replaced by fear. Her teeth started to chatter.

“Did he send you?”

Renee hesitated before lying.

“Yes.”

The blonde felt her hands cover her ears. Her limbs felt like lead. She could not breathe. Zsasz was going to come after her, wasn’t he?

“It’s not Jim this time. Now, from the facts I have, he didn’t have a choice, he had to rush in to protect someone. My contacts in Homicide are not all clear on the whole timeline, but what they say is Carmine is not especially offended.”

“Not _offended_?”

“Alright, so far what I have is… Bullock used to work for one of Falcone’s people. Was a close friend to the lady. Word is Falcone killed her. Bullock did not take the news kindly. I’m going to assume here that the whole arrest thing was an alternative to Carmine getting a bullet through the brains.”

Harvey’s words came back to Barbara. _“I’m an alcoholic, I suspect my liver is shot, the love of my life is…”_

“Was that ‘lady’ a fallen crime lord, by any chance?”

“Yes. Fish Mooney.”

_Oh God._

“Oh God. Is Harvey alright?”

“He came back to the GCPD with no injuries, and I wouldn’t worry about him, he’s a tough bastard.”

“Of course I’m going to worry! He’s a friend. Can’t you get Crispus to go there and check?”

Renee looked down at her phone.

“Yeah. And apparently Falcone is out already. No body, no murder. Let me give a few calls.”

 

###

 

Oswald had hoped to delay being questioned by Carmine, but the old man was not one to ignore pressing matters. He had made sure to have them share a car as they returned to the mansion. This, Oswald thought, could be the day he died.

“I’m very curious as to why you were the one to manage the situation”, Falcone pointed out, looking out the window.

“I-I-I heard r-rumors about F-Fish M-Mooney b-b-b-being disposed of. I-I wanted to get a c-confirmation on that, sir, so I c-came to your place. It just so happened that I arrived as you, well, left.”

“Did you, now? And so, you took it upon yourself to handle things?”

“I-I thought it of the f-foremost importance that no power imbalance would result from this unfortunate event, sir”, Oswald replied, stomach twisting into knots. “As a r-reaction was required, urgently, and I was the first m-man on the scene, I g-gave a few calls. That’s all.”

“Ah. I see. And to whom, exactly?”

“Y-your lawyers first, of course. Then… You have to u-understand, sir, that I am in n-no way p-p-p… _Privy_ to your thoughts about your lieutenants, and do not know if you consider them worthy of y-your trust, so I contacted them all and m-made it clear t-that you w-would want business t-to be undisturbed by such a t-trifle. Retaliation would only h-have caused trouble, and loss of r-revenue.”

Carmine turned to him at that, and studied his face. His was inscrutable.

“And what other measures did you take?”

“I-I… I called in a few simple f-favors, sir. Upturned, empty trucks on some major arteries. M-men watching Maroni’s restaurant - which he has not left. N-No bloodshed. I s-suggested m-mutual surveillance between your l-lieutenants, though they are n-not aware of the m-mutual part of my request. Also...” - _This is where you sign your own death warrant. Watch the tone of your voice._ \- “S-seing how easily detective Bullock m-managed to take down two dozen of your g-guards, I w-was worried some of them might h-have helped him. S-so I took it upon m-myself to have any sensitive d-documents m-moved to a safer place while they were a-alone in the mansion.”

Don Falcone tensed. _Yes, old man, I have you in the palm of my hand. Let’s both pretend I do not know that. Let’s both pretend you don’t._

“N-now, if I may ask a question of my own… What are your plans concerning Harvey Bullock? For I would strongly, strongly advise against having him harmed in the next six months at l-least. He himself is a p-pathetic drunkard, utterly w-worthless.”

“I’m aware of detective Bullock’s faults. Why would you show such… Surprising concern for his well-being, young man?”

“Oh, his w-well-being is of no import to m-me. His f-friends, unfortunately, are not so discerning. I have the utmost certitude they would go to war over any harm he might encounter. And they w-would be overly suspicious, too. It w-would be much, much better if he were allowed to die quietly, o-on the job, w-when the events of today are w-well and truly forgotten.”

The old man smiled placidly.

“That is sound advice. Now, where did you say you were keeping those documents?”

_Don’t tell him if you want to walk out of the car alive._

“I-I… I…”

Oswald breathed in. No. Better let the man have them, aware that he knew all of their contents by heart. This would earn him trust if he never used the information he had collected. Possibly. If he survived the day.

“I g-gave them to Victor, sir… He was the one man I k-knew you trusted entirely, and who would not even begin to care about their contents.”

“I see. Do you happen to know where Victor is now?”

“I assume he is handling Gilzean, as per your orders, sir. The man w-walked out of the club this morning and never came b-back. Zsasz thought he m-might try to free his crew.”

If that worried Carmine, his face betrayed nothing. He patted Oswald’s shoulder.

“Thanks for your explanations, boy. This was most instructive.”

“I-I… I m-merely did m-my best”, Cobblepot answered, not knowing the proper response to _that_.

Carmine smiled, and Oswald trembled in his seat for the rest of the ride. He was allowed to get out of the house alive, and to his car alive, and home, alive. By that point, he was reasonably certain he might not be executed for what he knew. He still cast wary glances at the men who escorted him - his own, but not Gabe - and kept a hand on his knife. He limped up the stairs, his leg screaming and cramping, then opened the door to his apartment.

“I’m home, Mother”, he announced.

There was no answer, just a trail of blood.

 

###

 

It had taken a few hours for Renee to feel certain Barbara would be safe, and by then, she had gotten worrying news on someone else. So, she had driven to Blackgate, where she had to at least meet with the person in question.

She straightened up as she walked to Simon Lamb’s holding cell. The young man turned to her, uncanny pale eyes sliding from her feet to her face. His expression was neutral - she knew that - but the eyes made it harsher, colder. Even as a kid, he had that effect on people. Features giving you _nothing_ and eyes digging through your soul. Master of the poker face, that one. Then you found him curled into a ball and sobbing because he could do nothing to help his friend, and you remembered he was just a boy, like any other.

Now, he was a man. A bitter one.

“Hello, Simon”, she said. “I heard you had been sentenced.”

The neutral mask fell, replaced by an icy, mean smile.

“Detective Montoya. It’s been a while.”

“Drop it. I’m not the enemy. How long did you get?”

She knew, but she had to open the conversation somehow. His smile dropped, and a tired expression took its place.

“Four months and a fine. It would have helped if I hadn’t broken that agent’s nose, really.”

“Yeah. It would have helped more not to attack him in the first place. Did you have to fly off the handle like that?”

“You go and lose the job you gave your best to for eight years and come back to discuss this, alright?”

“Fair enough. How are you holding up?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Renee got closer, placing one hand on the cell’s bars. He sighed. So did she.

“Did you do it, Simon?”

“Punch a cop in the face in front of ten witnesses? I’m surprised you would ask.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. You know why homicide was after you.”

“Yes, because they were grasping at straws, needed a suspect, and I am not _charming_.”

She nodded at that. She could see it. Then again, she remembered Simon very well.

“Did you do it?”

“Kill Strickland and those three men? No. Does my word matter? You wouldn’t be here if you thought I hadn’t. Or you would be screaming about getting me out instead of asking the question.”

“Would I?”

“If I could see it in you, I guess you could see it in me, right? How you would have shot Andrew Howe if it had been an option. How I didn’t because Caddy’s dad beat me to it.”

Renee closed her eyes. Yes, she remembered. Her gut still twisted at the memory of Andy’s smirk, and she still felt overwhelming satisfaction when she thought of his face blown in by a shotgun at close range. She shivered a that.

“It was a long time ago.”

“He talked to me about it. Mister Heller. Sick with chemo, puking his guts out, yet he still managed to find the strenght to talk to me and tell me ‘Don’t you do this. You’re a good boy’. He knew I would. I had my father’s gun. I had a plan. I had everything. He did it so I wouldn’t. It’s all on me.”

Montoya’s blood went cold, both at that confession and at the icy, dark smile on Lamb’s face. Thinking back on it, she could picture it just fine, too. Simon going crazy with rage and pain, just after Cadence had died, lashing out, breaking down. She had lost contact after the suicide, but she had been there to see the boy’s state when the girl was _alive_. And _Johann_. Of course, Johann would have talked to the boy. By that point, he was a son to him.

Of course, he would have protected him.

“It was on him”, she said. “You were a kid. And if somewhere behind that shit eating grin of yours, you think it was your fault, you stop thinking that right now.”

“I don’t think it was my fault, because I don’t think he did anything wrong. Howe had it coming. _People reap what they sow._ ”

Oh, _Simon_.

“Tell me you didn’t do it”, she demanded.

“I already did that, didn’t I?”

“Then say it again. Make it believable, this time.”

He clicked his tongue and repeated words she had first heard from Gregory Howe a decade before.

“Where there’s no proof, there’s no crime.”

“You motherfucking son of a bitch.”

 

###

 

Victor was shaking. Three hours. He had been looking for Gilzean for three hours, and while he knew the whimpering bag of grease was probably a continent away by now, he _had, had, had, HAD_ to find him. _The tally was not right._

“He’s a good friend of yours. A very good friend”, he said to his prisoner, some lowlife who had known Gilzean as a teenager and kept in touch most of his life. “Where would he go. Tell me, _pretty pretty PLEASE._ ”

The man, shaking and weeping, looked down at the deepening cut in his abdomen. A little more and Victor could pull his insides out to _play_.

“I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know!” the worm swore.

“You have to. Tell. me.”

The man sobbed. Victor’s phone rang, again, and it was Don Falcone, _again_. This time, he picked up.

“Victor. Do come back to the mansion this instant. I’ve been looking for you all afternoon”, Carmine said.

Rage flooded through Zsasz.

_THE TALLY IS NOT RIGHT._

“Can this wait, sir? Can this? I am… Occupied.”

“It cannot. I’ll be waiting. Do not delay.”

Victor hung up and shivered, heart beating, flesh crawling. Maybe he could remove the mark, along with a patch of skin. Maybe he could ignore it. Maybe…

He looked at his captive and slashed his throat open.

_Better now._

 

###

Harvey had been quiet, dead inside quiet, the whole afternoon. Jim had spent an hour with him in the locker room, sitting on the floor, an arm around his shoulders, and the older man had not uttered a word. He had lifted his head when Jim had received Montoya’s text (“I’m watching Barbara”) and gone livid at the realization that he had just forgotten the _mother of his child_ completely. Because that was just like him, right? Harvey had looked at his face, and seen the guilt, and turned away.

Jim had forgotten Barbara _again_. Oh, for a split second, but still. He had thanked Montoya in another text message, and buried his phone in his pocket.

What he had wanted to do at that point was to turn Harvey’s face to him to kiss him again - that had seemed to help a little - but from the man’s body language, it would not have been welcome. He shivered and shook himself away if Jim attempted to do more than keep an arm around him. When the blonde had tried to ever so slightly massage his shoulder, he had pushed the hand away. Jim had not insisted.

After a while, Sarah had called them to get Harvey’s side of the events, getting no answers whatsoever until Jim himself had asked and begged. Even then, Bullock had barely spared five syllables by reply. “Friend at Maroni’s”. “Killed nobody”. “Who cares?”.

Loeb was pacing in the bullpen, and when he had wanted to talk to Harvey himself, Sarah had flat out refused. He had flat out told her she didn’t value her job much. Jim had offered to discuss the whole matter _‘because this is my arrest, isn’t it?’_ and as good as dragged the commissioner to an empty room.

“We have a _recorded_ anonymous tip about Fish Mooney’s execution”, he had said (and he would have to thank Alvarez for the compulsive way he handled his calls). “We had a warrant, signed by judge Bam-Bam. Seems to me like we were well within our rights. I don’t see the issue here.”

Then he had dragged Harvey out of the precinct and brought him to the room he rented. He did not want his friend alone in his own flat, nor alone at all. Bullock had spend the rest of the afternoon smoking in the sofa, not saying a word. Jim had tried to keep himself busy - TV, dishes, cooking, _anything_ \- because there was nothing he could do. Harvey had totally shut him off, walled himself behind silence and a cold, detached face. And that was fine, he had a right not to talk. Maybe it left Jim slightly nauseous with worry, but so what?

Then, around six in the evening, Harv’ finally stood and walked to the kitchenette.

“What is it you burned earlier?” he asked in a half-mocking tone.

The knot in Jim’s stomach dissolved.

“Uh, steak.”

“Are you kidding me? Not only you go and make food you didn’t intend to eat, but you have to fucking go and waste perfectly fine steak? How is it you can’t _cook steak_ anyway?”

“So it’s a bit black at the edges, it’s still edible!”

“I would not give that to my dog. Hell, I’d adopt a dog just so I could prove I wouldn’t give it to him.”

“Please don’t adopt a dog.”

“I’m not crazy, those things are clingy as hell. Now, is that how your meat ends up every time, or was this just an accidental disaster?”

“Don’t eat the steak if you don’t want the steak! I get it, you made your point, leave the bloody steak alone.”

“You really can’t make steak?”

“Harv’...”

“Where’s the closest butcher?”

“What?”

“I don’t know how you got to that advanced age without being able to feed yourself properly but it’s more than time to fix the issue. I’m teaching you.”

“For fuck’s sake…”

They still went out, and found fresh steak, and some fancy oil, and black pepper, and Harvey dragged Jim back to his room so he could show him the proper use of a frying pan. Jim would have admitted the results tasted much better than what he usually managed, but he had to save face, so he kept that to himself.

“‘Didn’t know you could cook”, he muttered.

“I can’t. But come on, steak is a staple of a proper alimentation, fucking it up is like not knowing how to cook pasta.”

“I notice your ‘proper alimentation’ thing didn’t include fries.”

“Not sure I can trust you with potatoes.”

“Just go to hell.”

They weren’t up long after that, what with the day having been ten centuries long. Jim left the bed to Harvey and vanished into the bathroom with a comforter and a cushion. He could have used the sofa, but Harvey needed some intimacy. So Jim tried to sleep in the tub, and could easily pinpoint when his partner thought he had fallen asleep. That was when the sobbing started. He closed his eyes and ignored it. Eventually, silence fell, and he drifted to sleep. He woke to the clattering of cupboard doors and the noise of shuffled and falling things.

“Do you have any booze in there?” Harvey asked when he walked out of the bathroom, gloomily noting it was three in the morning.

Jim rolled his eyes.

“No, I don’t have booze.”

The older man grunted and checked the fridge, just in case.

_Pay attention._

Hands shaking and sweaty skin and tremors and confusion.  _Oh, Harv'..._

“There's a night shop at the corner. Let me get dressed and we'll see what they have, alright?”

Thirty minutes later, they were sitting in front of the TV, passing each other a bottle of Jack Daniel's. They had found a suitably numbing documentary about mice. An hour later, they were learning about cheetahs, and Harvey seemed to feel better. An hour and a half later, he started talking.

“Twelve years, or more like thirteen, really. We were only together for three and man, those were the worst.”

Jim turned to him, startled at the sudden confession, but his partner was still looking at the screen. The blonde reached out and put a hand on his knee. Harvey took a shivering breath.

“Why is it that I always knew it was coming, yet I still feel like weeping like a little bitch?”

Jim squeezed his knee has he tried to find his words, but the man's strangled gasp at that told him exactly what kind of answer was needed. He leaned in and kissed him. Harvey all but dragged him onto his lap, kissing him back hard.  _Good answer_ . He went straight for the buttons of Jim's shirt and took it off, hands roaming over his back. Then he went for his belt.

“Bed?” Jim breathed.

“Bed.”

The younger man was naked before they crossed those six feet, absolutely not by his own doing. He got Harvey out of his shirt as they sat and let himself be pulled down for another kiss, then another, then some more, up to the point Harvey said “Jim,  _please_ ”. Then the blonde moved back, sitting next to him, and the cognitive dissonance hit him.

_This is not what you like. This can't be what you want._

Hell of a time to come to that fucking conclusion. He pressed a hand to Harvey's hip, and just looked at him. He had never been with anyone who wasn't out of a magazine cover, not to mention not a woman, and the male body, the scar tissue, the hair, everything threw him in for a loop. He had no idea of what to do.

“Wanna stop?” Harvey said, already moving away.

Jim pressed on his hip to nail him into place, and combed his memories to find the most awkward phone call of his life.

“Harv'”, he started. “You're blacked out drunk.”

He paused at that, bit his lip, looked at his partner's face, then said his next line.

“Now you know me, I'm all for it, but some people call that  _rape_ .”

Harvey stared at him, incredulous, then started laughing, his whole frame shaking, and warmth pooled deep inside Jim's belly. He smiled. His friend took a few moments to catch his breath, and when he replied, he was still chuckling.

“I should be downright offended you didn't call me a playgirl model.”

“Ah. Nah, I peg you more as a sexy firefighter calendar kind of guy.”

Harvey laughed again, deep in his throat, then replied in a low voice.

“Go ahead. Use me. Doesn't matter” - He chuckled - “had sex.”

_Well, that worked_ much _better_ .

“Condoms. Drawer on the left. Come on.”

 

###

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I took my baby home", song by the Kinks, also used in Extra Time. 
> 
> Oswald fans, how did I do?


	11. Everybody hurts

 Victor knocked on the door of Cobblepot's apartment and waited. Then, because there was no answer and he was not a patient man, he walked away. The door opened as he was halfway down the stairs.

“Come back here”, Penguin ordered.

He looked like death covered in blood. It was _beautiful_.

“You better have a good reason for calling me in, creep”, Zsasz remarked.

Truth to be told, he only wanted to keep his façade. The _creep_ kept giving him amazingly entertaining opportunities. And now, his hands were slimy with darkening blood, and his cheek stained with splatter. The hitman entered the apartment expecting wonders, and found them.

“Did you _do_ this?” Penguin asked, locking the door.

His knife was in his hand.

'This' referred to the four bodies in the room. One slit throat, a stabbing, and two gunshot wounds. That last gunshot wound was Gertrude Kabelput. The three others looked like Cobblepot's henchmen. The stab wounds were much fresher than the gunshot wounds, so one could assume two killers had been at work, one of them standing in the room with the murder weapon in his hand.

“No”, he replied, rolling his sleeve up. “Only ten fresh cuts, and they were yours.”

Oswald shivered.

“Good. So - and remember my words - this never happened. Nobody can know.”

Victor lifted his absent eyebrows. _Fine with me_. He watched as the young man paced around the room, in jittery motions, cutting the air with his blade as rage cut through his thoughts.

“You will help me dispose of the corpses. And _then_ you will help me find out who did this. Oh, mother.”

And he stopped, and laughed. He sat down on the sofa, where his mother's corpse was laying, with a bloodstain on her chest. Shot in the heart, point blank.

“Isn't this funny, really?” he said with his cruellest smile. “ _It's her heart, poor thing. Valves. She might be taken any moment._ ”

And he laughed again, standing, scratching his cheek with the tip of his blade.

“I don't work for you”, Victor pointed out.

But he was intrigued, intrigued, because revenge meant death by his hand.

“Why would I help you?” he asked.

Oswald grinned. This time, he wiped his blade on his own palm, and pressed, and drew fresh blood.

“Why indeed?”

Victor swallowed.

 

###

 

Oswald buried his mother in the grandest, most beautiful mausoleum Gotham had to offer. The previous tenants had been relocated to wherever it was that Zsasz disposed of encumbering corpses, and it had been cleaned. He filled the place with flowers and vases and old creamy lace, everything beautiful. Then he grieved.

 

###

 

Jim woke up to the sound of emptied pockets and ruffled clothes. And swearing. Creative swearing. He sat up, startled, then remembered the events of the previous day, as well as those of the current morning, much earlier. Sober, in the cold light of day, he felt like _maybe_ giving his _partner_ a blowjob had not been such a great idea. They had to _work_ together, and not just in the same building like with Leslie, but actually at each other's side. Then again it meant nothing, it had just been about comfort, and it wasn't any worse than simply being attracted to the man.

Jim tiredly thought he would have to give himself some time for an identity crisis later, too.

“What are you looking for?” he asked when Bullock flipped his pockets for the tenth time.

“ _My bloody motherfucking GLASSES!_ ” the older man snapped with a rage that made absolutely no sense.

He threw his vest on the sofa and examined his pants, then threw them away too.

“Fucking bloody hell!” he swore, raking his hands through his hair, shaking with fury.

Jim just stared.

“WHAT?” Harvey shouted when he noticed the pointed glare.

“All of that over glasses? Really?”

“I need the damn things!”

“Do you now?”

His partner relaxed at that, and snorted in annoyance.

“I can't fucking see, and I'm missing out on some fantastic wanking material here”, he explained, waving in the direction of Jim's naked body.

_Don't you get embarrassed, that's what he's aiming for._

“Too bad”, the blonde commented.

He stood and stretched, then walked to the bathroom, where he could be mortified in peace. Harvey might not have been able to “fucking see”, but he followed him with his eyes, with the grin of a kid in a candy shop. It reminded Jim of the early morning, and Harvey's eyes locked on him as he rolled the condom down. And the _pants_ and _moans_ and his fists clenching on the blankets.

_Just shower and focus on your day, will you?_

It was easier said than done. His thoughts kept straying. It had gone much better than what he had feared, considering he had to figure everything out in a sea of strangeness. It had even felt _great_ at times, though they had not gone much further than fondling. That being said, the most satisfying part of the morning had been to see Harvey fall asleep. No shaking, no tense muscles, no nightmares. Just a few hours of relief. Jim had no doubt the misery would crawl back soon. It had probably started to, seeing how intent Harvey was on getting furious over silly things.

When he got out of the bathroom, his partner was clothed and smoking at the window.

“So we have to get my car towed so I can get my glasses back. I think they're in the glove compartment.”

“Tow... Yeah, that would be wise”, Jim replied, remembering that Harvey's car was probably very close to Falcone's mansion.

“Let's get to work, we're five hours late.”

The blonde looked at him - _Work? In your state?_ \- but what else could Harvey do with his day? He nodded.

 

###

 

Sarah put the phone down and considered doing the same with herself. There was nothing in her flat, or around it, that could support her weight, so hanging was out of the question. Pills, she would have to procure. Slitting one's wrists was ineffective. She could get out and go jump off Pioneer's bridge, or maybe just get her gun out of its drawer and not bother with that short walk.

Then, of course, she had two children who loved her and would be destroyed by her death, so she could wait a few years, until the girls became adults and strangers.

It wasn't that she actually _wanted_ to commit suicide, anyway. Imagining the scenarios was soothing. She could picture herself escaping all the issues that crushed her. She made mental checklists of what had to be in order before she died, how the flat should be arranged, what compromising items should be thrown out. Another major point was “by whom to be found?”. She didn't want to inflict unnecessary distress upon the person who discovered her, so she would have to ensure it could only be someone tough. She'd been working in Homicide for years and still had no idea of who was best qualified for that kind of discovery. It could mess someone up very badly. She supposed her cops were more than trained, but they were friends, weren't they? And anyone checking up on her absence would have to be close to her.

Someone knocked (or, more precisely, tapped the door so lightly that she thought she had imagined the noise). She opened the door, just in case.

“Hello”, Carlos said. “I know you only came home five hours ago, I hope I didn't wake you?”

She shook her head.

“No. Loeb just called me, I was awake. Is there a problem?”

“None. I had a possible witness to question two streets away, and it's lunchtime. Do you want to go grab something?”

Sarah stared at the void and tried to focus on the question. It wasn't a difficult one. She was just tired, and a bit out of it.

“I guess I owe you a meal”, she said. “Thank you for protecting the girls yesterday.”

“You owe me nothing, but if you want to add beers to that, I won't complain.”

Since Sarah's stomach believed it was morning, they ended up in some chain bakery slash sandwich shop next to the subway station, where she got muffins while Carlos settled for some bacon, cheese and tomatoes abomination of a panini.

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” he asked after a while.

“Why would you think something is wrong?”

“Because my sandwich is gone, and you have taken exactly one bite of that muffin, and neither of us has said a word since we sat down.”

She looked at his plate. It was empty.

“Aren't you observant”, she tried to joke.

“I know. I should have been a detective or something”, he deadpanned.

Sarah chuckled, but the amusement quickly faded. She shook her head.

“The next time I fail to 'properly handle' a crisis, I will be demoted. I'm to report to Loeb's office to receive the paper version of that formal warning.”

Carlos startled at that, then sighed and took her hand. She let him, waited a few moments, then took a deep breath.

“Nice to see I'm not the only one who can't find a comforting thought here.”

He didn't as much as crack a smile when he replied.

“Well, I was about to offer to abduct Gordon to keep him chained in my basement for a few months, since that would solve ninety-nine percent of our issues. I was just looking for a way to formulate that in a less criminally insane way.”

She burst out laughing.

 

###

 

Jim was not altogether sure what to do with Harvey, so he had given him a list of the students who had attended St. Peter during Cadence Heller's last year, and asked him to track every woman on it down. It didn't matter if he blanked out at times, if he spent whole minutes looking down at nothing in particular, still as a stone, breath growing laborious.

Jim focused on calling those women, asking questions about Andrew Howe. “Mrs. Abbot. Miss Adams. Miss Adriani. Miss Alcott. Would you be willing to answer a few questions? I was wondering if, while you attended St. Peter, you knew - or knew of - Cadence Heller or Andrew Howe.”

As he had expected, he got very little in the way of useful information from those calls. It was difficult to explain why he was looking into a ten years old closed case, and any mention of looking for a killer got people to very quickly end the conversation. And _that_ was without actually saying that he was looking for a rape victim who might have started to execute child molesters and murderers.

“We need to go back to Cadence's friends and try to see if they knew about the other girl”, he told Harvey, twenty calls in.

His partner didn't react. He did not move.

Jim had no idea what to do because he had never known how to grieve. He had never had the opportunity to stop and _think_ about a loss. Even at ten, when his father had died, he had not had a moment to. His mother was collapsing, and so was his brother, in a different way. There was too much to _do_ to be miserable, so he had been angry instead. As for losing his mother... Her death couldn't have come soon enough, with the way her illness had robbed her of being herself. And after that... On the whole, he didn't get close to people easily, and he had never lost someone he cared about. Not through death. Those who _had_ died, he felt little about.

He tried to remember how he had dealt with his mother's overwhelming pain at the loss of his father.

_Poorly._

“Harv'?”

No answer, but the man's breath caught.

Then Essen appeared behind him, arriving from the staircase, and patted his shoulder.

“You take a week off.”

“I don't need a fucking w-”

“No protests. Jim, My office.”

Gordon nodded and followed her in.

“He wanted to come”, he said in hushed tones after closing the door.

“I know. Now, _you_ are not officially on leave but you go, take your case files, and go work from home. If helping makes him feel better, _whatever_ , let him. But he can't be in the precinct. The moment you turn your back, someone will go after him. Even if it's not some revenge attack from Falcone... Some people in here _rejoice_ about Fish Mooney's death. They will throw it in his face.”

He nodded.

“Anything else?”

“Don't drop the ball. He let _you_ in. That's a door I never saw him open. So... Try to weather the storm. Me, Carlos, we'll help as much as possible, but that can only be as much as he lets us.”

Jim acquiesced, hand already on the doorknob.

“Thanks, captain.”

 

###

 

A quick drive later, they arrived at the mall and found the preppy clothing store where Pamela Olsen worked. The young blonde spotted them and put on the most engaging, polite and dazzling smile in existence, walked to them, and said, through that grin:

“So are you going after all of our jobs now? Wasn't ruining Simon's life enough?”

Jim sighed. Harvey was looking at the mannequins, his face blank.

“I understand that you're concerned for your friend, Miss Olsen, but... He was belligerent with us from the very beginning and _praised_ the vigilante. He had training with weapons, no alibi and a history of violence, not to mention - presumably - access to a some of Miss Heller's pin drums. We had him watched for very valid reasons.”

Her grin grew larger, and nicer.

“No. What you did was go after the first person you did not like. You had no proof and no suspect and you needed protect yourselves or make an arrest or something. _I told you Simon was nice_. And now he lost everything and it's _all_ on you.”

Her smile was still there, but twitching at the corner, and her eyes were wet. Jim's stomach lurched at the idea that she might very well be right.

“We were missing some crucial information. There's another lead we need to investigate, and we hoped to discuss it with you.”

“You want me to talk to the cops? You bring in Renee Montoya. At least I know _she_ is a good person. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

And she walked away, still smiling, but tense as a bowstring.

 

###

 

Jonathan Tucker talked to them. Unfortunately, he had nothing to say.

“As I told you”, he explained while replacing a headlight on an Impala, “I was not that close to them at that point. No, Cadence didn't tell me about another rape victim. But knowing her? She'd have told no one. It was not _her_ secret, was it?”

 

###

 

Marcy Sanders opened the door of her home and groaned when she recognized Jim.

“I still haven't procured a lawyer, you know?” she commented.

That got a chuckle out of Harvey, and that chuckle let Jim breathe a little easier than he had all day.

“I get it. You don't want to talk to us”, the blonde said. “We'll get straight to the point. Andrew Howe raped another girl. Do you know who that might be?”

She sighed, shook her head, and let them in.

“I don't. She's a wise one if she kept it to herself, frankly. I mean, I liked Cadence, but she was a firebrand. She did not think of the consequences when she acted, didn't think much, really, or she would have understood how bad things could get with Andy.”

“And _you_ could see it coming?”

She brought them to the living room, where six kitten were running amok. Gordon looked at the place, an absolute mess of multicolour blankets, pet toys, cat trees and biology books on every surface. It looked cozy.

“I foster”, she explained. “And of course I could. The guy's word was holier than the Bible. And he was nice to everyone, and I dated him for two weeks and he was so, so charming. But see, you date the guy for two weeks and then you discover he calls you an horse-faced bitch when he talks to his friends, because he can't get into your pants. And you hear he said you let him, too. Nice on the outside, but a vengeful bastard when he did not get his way.”

“I'm confused. Your friends told us you _liked_ him.”

“With Simon's temper and Cadence's self-righteousness and Pam's poor little worrying heart? I kept the whole thing to myself. At least one of the three was bound to flip. It was just silly teenage drama, too, not worth the pain.”

“Why is it you walked away from the girl if you hated the guy, then?” Harvey asked.

She breathed in, exasperated.

“Do you think Caddy was the only one getting harassed? Do you think her locker was the only one filled with paint and bleach? Do you think she was the only one getting the insults? And _I_ had to walk home alone, I didn't have Simon grafted to my hip. I gave up on Cadence the day some of the boys in our class caught up with me and lifted my skirt, started feeling me up, and asked me if I was as much of a slut as my best friend. _I couldn't wear a dress for five years_. So, _yeah_ , I walked away. I'm not strong like she was and I'm not as dumb as Pam not to be _terrified_ of all of that. I wanted _none_ of that shit. Didn't want it back then, and I certainly don't want it _now_! The best thing you can do for that other girl? Let the matter rest.”

 

###

Jim drove Harvey to his flat at nine in the evening, after pizza. The blonde had forced himself to eat an Hawaiian one, just to get a rise out of his friend. He had planned to get him back to his place, like the previous evening, but Harvey had wanted to go home. So that was where Jim had taken him.

The sofa was still covered in doritos.

“Beer?” Harvey offered as he swiped the thing, gave up, and covered the doritos with a blanket.

“Yeah, thanks.”

They drank in silence, as Jim refused to act like a mother hen, asking stupid questions such as “will you be alright?” and “do you want me to stay?”. The most he said was “good night, then, I'll pick you up in the morning”, as he walked to the door.

He stopped before actually leaving, though. He had lived with Roger Gordon for long enough not to have _some_ reflexes.

“Anything you want me to remove from the place before I leave you alone in it?”

Bullock studied his face, hesitated, then nodded and walked to the kitchen counter to pick a metallic sugar box up. He threw it to Jim, who caught it, and peeked inside. Weed, and coke, and what had possibly been a brownie before it withered down to a rock.

“In plain sight in your fucking kitchen?” he railed.

“Hey, I'm a cop in Gotham, it's not like I can run into trouble for this.”

Jim closed the box, and his eyes, so he could collect himself. When he reopened them, Harvey was fidgeting, more hesitant than before he had handed him the drugs. It took a moment, but he seemed to come to a decision, and braced himself.

Then he reached under his vest, removed his gun from his holster, and handed it to Jim. The younger man felt his knees go weak and his stomach turn to ice. He did not comment, just took the weapon. His partner went to retrieve a second one from his closet, as well as a shotgun. By that point, Jim's heart was throbbing so hard he felt about to pass out. But he still went to find something to put the weapons and sugar box in, nodded to Harvey, and left.

Then, he sat down in his car, grabbed the wheel, and tried to calm down.

Thirty minutes later, he climbed back to Harvey's floor, and sat next to the door, just in case.

At eleven or so, the door opened.

“You know, you want to try the stalker thing, don't park under the vic's window.”, his friend commented. “Just a tip.”

Jim lifted his head. Harvey rolled his eyes, with a very faint amused smile.

“Now come on in, asshat. I'm not standing here all night.”

 


	12. You've got a friend in me

The week had been wonderful, full of screams and wails and blood. Oswald was a man on a mission, and that mission left a trail of corpses all over the Bowery. And the kills, the cutting, the playing with blades? He left it all to Victor. _De-light-ful._ The snitch was so well informed, too. When one of the men they questioned proved to be useless, he instantly provided the name and address of a new victim.

Victor could have hunted with him for days on end - _look, creep, this is how deep you have to cut to sever the carotid artery_ \- but Don Falcone kept _interrupting_ , calling him in for escort missions and dispassionate, impersonal hits. With a gun. He would not let him play.

_Oswald_ let him play, and chuckled when their prey sobbed in pain and begged for mercy.

“Maybe it is still time to call for help”, he would tell the whimpering messes. “But it seems you can't give me the information I'm looking for. That being said, I could be swayed by any kind of interesting intel.”

And, when the men were done singing and asked for help again, he would smile.

“My friend”, he told them, “I don't think you understand. Didn't we let you see our faces?”

After that line, it was Victor's turn. He would take his time, every single kill a Christmas present, unwrapped with a knife.

He was  _glad_ nobody had a thing to say about Gertrude Kapelput.

“Why are you convinced it was Maroni?” he ended up asking, after that first week and twenty new scars on his leg ( _“Don't you think Carmine would question why your arm turned into minced meat all of a sudden, you simpleton? Cut your_ ankle _!”_ ).

They had gone to Cobblepot's place so the freak could  _pay_ him, and didn't he know the  _perfect_ currency?

“Because, when I had to leave Maroni's restaurant to report to your master, the excuse I would provide was my mother's poor health. Now, Maroni might be a brute, but he isn't totally devoid of intellect. This is the kind of sick irony he would greatly enjoy.”

“Will you be convinced otherwise? We met with many, many “ - _not enough_ \- “of his men. I was  _convincing_ , wasn't I? There's nothing to find,  _maybe_ .”

“Even if there is, indeed, nothing to find, he  _deserves_ to be hurt. So let us keep going after his men as long as they leave themselves open to attacks. Let him suffer their losses.”

Victor shivered in anticipation.

_Yes please. Now can I be paid?_

 

###

 

A week had gone by, and Jim couldn't tell if Harvey was doing better. His partner could keep himself busy, and act just like himself, and then... Then there was something heartbreaking in seeing a grown man - this particular man - start weeping over a song on the radio. Jim helped as he could, mostly by being around when Harvey seemed to want something  _alive_ in the room. He could pinpoint every time his friend thought of Fish Mooney, either by his blank, vacant expression, or by the pain on his face. There were outbursts, too. He would  _rage_ over the slightest things - and Jim got it, anger was easier than pain - but he was still the one being screamed at. Thankfully, he had quickly understood how to stop Harvey dead in his tracks. After a few fits, he had just tried stripping off his shirt, earning a “Don't you expect that shit to work”. So Jim had removed his belt and unbuttoned his pants, and Harvey grabbed him and crushed their lips together.

“That was bloody unfair shameless cheating”, he'd said a while later, still panting next to Jim.

Anything sexual worked well, so they had spent quite a few hours in bed, making out, or exchanging handjobs. Every now and then, Jim ended up on his knees for what had to be the worst blowjobs ever. Not Harv', though. The bastard preferred to be on the receiving end.

Sarah had invited them over for diner three days before, and it had been nice enough.

“Cook?” she had said when she had called. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves, we'll have Chinese delivered.”

They had arrived at her place at the same time as Carlos, who was carrying a box of groceries and grumbled “I ate Chinese every day this week, thank you very much”. Sarah's face, as he pushed past her to get into the kitchen, had been priceless. She had protested, and he had clicked his tongue, and she had protested some more, and he had pushed her out of her own kitchen. Harvey had helped him to cook. Jim and Sarah had found themselves waiting in the living room, not even allowed to prepare the salad. That salad had contained four separate kinds of vegetable, eggs, and home-made vinaigrette.

“My wife is a  _cook_ , you idiots”, Carlos had pointed out after the food had been placed on the table, as they looked astonished.

That evening had been nice.

“Am I crazy or is he going after Sarah?” Harvey had asked on the way back to his flat.

“Alvarez?”

“The man has the poker face of a prison door, so I cant be sure, but come on, he just went and prepared her a home-cooked meal.”

“Prepared 'everyone'.”

“You seriously think he gives a shit about the two of us?”

Jim had thought about it for a while, and considered how much time Alvarez had spent around Essen in the previous months, as well as the few occasions he had seen them spend the evening in her office, just talking.

“Yeah, fair enough. He's going after her.”

Harvey had chuckled at that.

“That poor guy. I wish him luck.”

 

###

 

Five cars parked on one side of the empty lot behind the abandoned steel mill. Five cars parked on the other side. Ten bodyguards took their places on each side, then Sal got out of his car and so did Falcone.

“Salvatore. To what do we owe this 'urgent' meeting?”

“Carmine. I see you brought your lapdog”, Sal replied, with a nod in Zsasz direction.

The crazy loon was hovering next his employer, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress one of those creepy ass smiles.

“I did. What seems to be the matter?” Falcone asked.

“Get the freak to take his shirt off.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“See, I know that sounds like a real weird request. But we're friends, aren't we? I gave you Fish. So you know I wouldn't ask something stupid without valid cause.”

“And the cause would be?”

“The cause would be twenty of my men were killed this week alone, and I'm not talking clean shots, bullet to the head or chest here. I'm talking real messed up, slaughterhouse explosion scene. Guts all over the place, people opened up, dozens of stabbing wounds. And then it turns out one of the neighbours saw a weird ass creepy bald dude in a suit leave one of the crime scenes. Which brings me here. I mean, I trust you entirely, Carmine, but you have to admit your guy here is every variety of nuts. What if he started getting some new urges and went to play outside of your playground?”

Falcone turned to his bodyguard at that and studied his face.

“Would you do that, Victor?”

The suppressed smile turned into the worst shit eating grin.

“No, Don Falcone. Of course not.”

“Please take off your shirt so our friend can see you're sincere.”

Sal watched as Zsasz shed his vest, then his shirt, then extended his arm to show off his scars. Maroni looked at them, searching for the freshest cuts. None of them looked very recent, though, and he could only count ten crusty marks, not twenty.

“I keep a perfect,  _perfect_ tally, sir”, the lunatic told Carmine. “You know I do. I  _have_ to. It  _has_ to be right. See? Gilzean's men, last week. The cuts are nearly healed.”

“I can see that”, the old man replied. He turned to Sal. “It would seem you need to find another suspect for this. I'm sorry. That being said, I couldn't be more glad that there's no trouble between our families.”

“Yeah, me too. Thanks, Carmine. You know I had to check.”

Zsasz scratched at his crusts, drawing blood, and chuckled to himself. His 'master' watched in silence as he did it.

“I can understand why you felt the need to. I believe we are done here?”

“Yeah. Thanks for your time, my friend.”

 

###

 

Harvey's week off turned into two, as Sarah had checked on him and judged he was not well enough to return to work. Jim had agreed. He had shared in his partner's bed that very night, and could attest that the man did not, in fact,  _sleep_ . He just stared at the ceiling for hours, and when he passed out, it was to trash and turn endlessly.

That second week, Harvey began to pull away. He was firmly opposed to being babysat, and didn't bother with subtlety to let Jim know. He asked for his guns back, and flat out told him to go home. So Jim did. He called the next evening and offered to drop by with a pack of beers. Harvey insisted to go to his favourite bar instead, and went back home alone. They did that the next day too, and after that, they only exchanged phone calls. Jim worried - especially the first few days - but Harvey needed space, and space he got.

The blonde focused on his work instead, as well as on Barbara. He solved a case, on his own, then helped Alvarez and Collins out while still trying to track down Andrew Howe's mysterious, hypothetical first victim. He knew she would not be found. Even if they were extremely luck and she was indeed one of St. Peter's students, and not some random girl who had joined that party - no one would talk.

So he went to Simon Lamb.

“Detective Gordon”, the man saluted as Jim took his seat in front of him. “Can I help you?”

His tone was polite, his smile unpleasant, his posture tense.

“Yes. I want the name of Howe's first victim. I figured if Cadence Heller had told someone, it would be you. Pamela Olsen is too fragile, and the two others were not close enough for her to confide in them, at that point, right?”

“So, what's your theory of the week? Young woman goes crazy after being abused?”

“That's a lead, and the only one that doesn't point to you. You know once you get out of here, we'll still be after you.”

“Unless that vigilante kills again while I'm detained, of course?”

“Which he - or she - has not done so far. Now, you might want to drop the aggressiveness, all it got you so far was scrutiny, not to mention turning the one person on your side against you. Detective Montoya was not favourably impressed by your last conversation.”

Simon shrugged.

“She came in already thinking I was the vigilante. The only thing that changed was that when she arrived, she was trying to understand. When she left, she just wanted to bash my face into a wall. That's the effect I usually have on people, I'm not that concerned.”

“I'd still be careful about acting like an asshole, if I were a murder suspect. That being said, you were not surprised when I mentioned a first victim. From that, I deduce you knew about her?”

“I knew of a first girl, yes. I did not know  _her_ . And while I really appreciate that you are finally moving your ass and looking into leads instead of pointing to the first available mean bastard, you're not going to find her.”

“Really, now?”

“Admitting every woman you talk to is honest, which won't happen, there were a lot of seventeen years old girls in Gotham back then.”

Jim breathed in as that. He had suspected as much.

“She was not from your school.”

“No. Or at least that's what Caddy told me. She might not have wanted me to harass that kid. Let's be frank, I'd have dragged her to the cops, even screaming and kicking.”

“I see. Do you have any idea of who attended that party, then?”

“Laura Dillon's Halloween party? Hell, every kid in town.”

“Well, I'll see if Laura Dillon remembers some of the faces. Anything else that could help us?”

“Don't push your luck, detective Gordon. That cop I punched in the face should have been you.”

 

###

 

Renee Montoya, it turned out, had investigated that party a decade before.

No one had noticed a thing. No one had admitted a thing.

 

###

 

At the end of the second week, Harvey brought a bottle of whiskey to Jim's place.

“Well there”, Jim said as he opened the door, trying hard not to grin. “I was just about to watch a documentary about Honduran white bats. Wanna join in?”

“Asshat”, his partner replied, entering the flat. “How did your day go?”

“Uneventfully. Yours?”

“Drove around for a bit. I like it when the weather is unshitty like today.”

'Unshitty' was probably the most positive term one could apply to Gotham's climate. There had been  _some_ sun.

“Hey, my sugar box!” Harv' exclaimed, walking to the kitchenette. “In plain sight in your fucking bedroom?”

“Hey, I'm a cop in Gotham, it's not like I can run into trouble for this”, Jim said, repeating his friend's line. “I considered flushing all of that crap, then I realized you'd make me pay you back for all of it.”

The older man chuckled.

“Honduran bats, you said?”

Jim pointed to the TV, and they both collapsed into the sofa, sharing the bottle of whiskey. It was good, expensive stuff, the kind you kept for special occasions. So the blonde asked about it.

“What's the occasion?”

“That's me thanking you for being a lifeline last week. Now drink and let's not get into sappy friendly talks.”

The younger man smiled at that, and did as ordered. Then he tried to focus on the documentary and not Harvey's body ten inches away. It was easier said than done. The man had wanted space, Jim had given him space, but his body was not in agreement with the whole notion. He wanted to drag his partner to the bed and fuck. Hell, he was even a bit stunned by  _how much_ he wanted to.

“So you came just to drink?” he teased, placing a hand on Harvey's tight.

Harvey stilled at that, softly pushed his hand away, and put the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.

“Yes.”

“Okay”, Jim said in his best unperturbed tone, pretending he  _was_ just fine with it.

_He_ has _rejected you before, you idiot. Don't you go and take this like a blow to the gut. He wasn't thinking straight when he slept with you and you knew it full well._

Harvey leaned back into the sofa and pretended to look at the screen, as the commentator explained how Honduran bats built tents. Five minutes went by, then he groaned, grabbed Jim by the neck and kissed him hard. _King of mixed signals_. The blonde kissed him back and went for his clothes as soon as he started to unbutton his shirt.

“This is the mother of all fucking terrible ideas”, Harvey muttered to himself, standing up and pulling Jim towards the bed. “You asshat.”

“Care to explain?”

The older man shoved him onto the mattress, then went to the coat rack, fished his glasses out of his jacket's pocket, and put them on. He shed his shirt, and undershirt, and shoes, and joined Jim on the bed. He never replied. He got rid of Jim's clothes very quickly, though, and took in the sight. Whatever he saw brought him to a distant, unpleasant place for a moment or so. Then he snapped out of it.

“Condoms. Now”, he demanded, moving down.

Jim nearly knocked the nightstand down in his hurry to comply.

A few minutes later, as Harvey didn't seem to want to move on from light fondling, the blonde made the mistake to beg. _“_ _God, Harv', please...”_

His partner jumped back.

“Alright, mister ADHD, mind giving me a moment here? This is  _ new _ to me.”

Jim blinked a that, and combed through months of memories - being crushed against a wall and kissed senseless, having his clothes all but torn from him, and Harvey looking at him like a starving man as soon as he showed a bit of skin - and couldn't find  _ one _ sign of hesitation, ever.

“ _ What? _ ”

“New. Never sucked cock before. Never wanted to until now. So if you could  _ wait _ until I figure out how to go about it...”

Jim flushed.  _ Until now. _

“Ah. Uh.”

Harvey glared, half-irritated, half-amused. Jim started chuckling, a nervous reflex that quickly turned to raw laughter.

“Sorry. I really had no idea, you never as much as hesitated.”

His friend snorted.

“Yeah, well, confidence goes a long way”, he explained.

He stilled at that, and Jim saw him sink to that dark and empty place where Fish Mooney laid. His face went blank, his shoulders fell, his breath caught. Jim's stomach twisted.

“I'm sorry”, Harvey said after a few seconds. “Can we do this another day? I...”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

 

###

 

Sarah had just finished her morning round. She had an update on nearly every case, some with better news than others, but on the whole, most of the open cases were progressing smoothly. As the murderer was laying low (or was possibly doing time for assault), the music box killer case was going cold, despite Jim's best efforts, but he was still reviewing what they knew with Harvey, who was finally back on the job. A few other investigations would have to be buried: Loeb had called to discuss how overzealous new detectives could sometimes find themselves involved in matters that did not concern them. It made her clench her teeth and boil inside, but some things could not be helped.

She was about to get out for a meal when she noticed a few of the S.W.A.T. boys standing by the door. They had helped retrieve Carlos' suspect of the day, she remembered. She would have preferred if they had left directly after handing the murderer over, really. None of those men were pleasant to be around.

She tried to pay no attention to them, but still watched them from the corner of her eye. She saw the meanest of the lot - Howard Branden - notice Harvey as he was walking to the doors, and grin.

“You know what they say”, Branden told his team. “There's plenty of fish in the sea... Or is it the river? I can never remember.”

The S.W.A.T. men were exceedingly well trained. They were prepared for urban guerilla, hostage situations, riot control, and all of the most dangerous situations one could encounter on the force. So, when Branden failed to avoid a blow to the throat, Sarah chalked it up to absolute stupidity.

 

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the Disney song I picked as a title does not pertain to Jim and Harvey's relationship.  
> Yep, it's for Oswald and Victor :D


	13. You're my best friend

 “I _swear_ , Harvey, you're lucky Sarah did not outright arrest you”, Jim snapped as he dragged his partner to his car. “You could have killed the guy.”

Harvey did not answer, just tried to light a cigarette as they walked. Killing Branden _had_ clearly been his intent. By the time the S.W.A.T. men had managed to drag him away, Howard had four broken ribs and was lucky not to have ended up with a crushed larynx. All _that_ had taken was thirty seconds and three blows. After hitting his throat, Harvey had tripped him and kicked him in the chest.

The detective himself was lucky to have gotten out of it with only a black eye, a bloody nose, and some bruises. The S.W.A.T. team had given him a taste of his own medicine. As for Branden, he was on his way to Gotham General. Thankfully, he was too much of a proud bastard to press charges. He was more likely to corner Harvey with a group of friends and to beat him to a pulp.

Since an arrest had not been on the table, Sarah had suspended Bullock, for a whole month, without pay, and that was fair enough.

“Are you _listening_ to me?”

“That asshole deserved it”, Harvey replied in an unconcerned tone, taking a puff of his cigarette.

“Are you fucking kidding me? He _cracked a joke_ , and you tried to take him out. In what universe is that okay?”

His friend did not even turn to him. Jim clenched his teeth, and shoved him, hard enough to make him move, but not that hard.

“You want to lash out and fight? You keep it in, _or_ you come to me. But don't you go and pull something like _that_ again!”

He had to block a punch to the face at that. It left him wide open for a knee to the groin.

“ _You_ of all people don't get to lecture me about anger management!” Harvey shouted as Jim crumpled to the floor in blinding pain. “I've known you for _months_ and I've yet to see you _not_ angry at something. Angry at Loeb, angry at Flass, at Sarah, at Falcone, at _EVERYONE_ , and pulling stupid shit EVERY FUCKING DAY! And _you_ tell me to keep it in? Go fuck yourself!”

He stalked to his car, slammed the door as he got in it, and drove away.

 

###

 

Carmine studied Victor as he fidgeted near the window. He was looking at the clock, pacing, and would ask, every now and then “Are you sure you still need me, sir?”. To that, the old man replied, over and over again, “Yes, Victor. The whole day”.

When Salvatore had shared his suspicions, and demanded to see Zsasz arms, Carmine had been ready to find two dozen fresh cuts and to hand over the young man with no protests. When his scars had proven to be older than a week, Carmine's first though had not been “he did not do it”, but “where did he cut himself?”. The young sociopath had been distracted for days, always in a hurry to leave, showing growing irritation when Falcone gave him tasks. He had even sent him to eliminate enemies, and the young man had balked at the idea, letting his girls take out the targets instead. He had snorted at the idea of using a gun. Thus, his employer was certain that he had finally devolved.

He had no idea why Victor would go after Maroni's men. The thrill of the chase, of taking out people who could fight back? He was _certainly_ very set on being sent to dispose of Jim Gordon someday. And it was better, Carmine supposed, that the victims were part of Salvatore's family instead of civilians. He did not have to worry about a war over an issue like this one. It would be easy enough to blame everything on Victor's insanity and to deliver him to Salvatore, who would still have lost many trusted men.

Still, Carmine kept his gun close to his heart.

 

###

 

You couldn't even trust the professionals. You had to do everything yourself.

Oswald, who had slipped into Jimmy Renato's home, waited behind the kitchen door for the man to return to his lodgings. His blade was ready, the lights dim, and no one would think to check behind a door that had probably been left open for years. It had been blocked in that position by a door stop. So, when Maroni's henchman came in, and went to prepare himself a drink, Oswald silently pushed the door open, walked to him - knowing his foot's shuffling would give him away - and said “hi”. Then he stabbed him in the gut.

Victor had been seen. He had to be cleared of all suspicion. Emulating his particular style was, however, not going to be very pleasant.

“Could you kindly pass out?” he asked the dying man. “I'm afraid I have to keep you alive, you know, for the _splatter_. It would be much easier for you to just lose consciousness right now.”

 

###

 

Carlos had tried to catch up with Jim and Harvey as they were leaving the precinct. Sarah wanted to talk to Jim, he was to bring him back to her office. He had arrived on the parking lot just in time to see them argue and, man, he felt sorry for Gordon.

He waited until the man managed to stand and breathe before showing himself.

“The captain wants to see you”, he announced.

Jim winced, sweaty and looking about to pass out.

“Now?”

“She can wait five minutes.”

The blonde tried to man up all the same, and walked back towards the building. Carlos followed him. A few minutes later, they entered Sarah's office.

“I should not have let him come back so soon”, she said, pacing. “I knew he would not be ready. This was bound to happen. Damn it, damn it, damn it. How did he take the suspension?”

“He didn't mention it”, Gordon replied, voice still a bit strangled. “It was deserved, though. You made the right call here.”

“Are _you_ alright?”

“I'm. Fine.”

“Think you can check up on him this evening, when he'll have calmed down?”

“Yeah, I'm not sure he's in a hurry to see me, but I can try.”

Sarah stared at him. His phone rang, and he silenced it without even looking at it, then shrugged.

“He wasn't in the best of moods when he left”, he explained. “We, uh, argued. It might be best if I gave him some space.”

She frowned. Gordon's phone rang again, and he silenced it again.

“I'll check on Bullock”, Carlos said. “He won't want to see _anyone._ ”

He meant ' _not even Jim_ ', and she understood him instantly. Her shoulders sagged.

“That was bound to happen _too_ ”, he commented. “He's not an easy man to be friends with.”

“I hoped he wouldn't close up so soon. Jim was doing really good damage control here.”

Gordon, who seemed a bit uneasy at being discussed while he was in the room, cleared his throat.

“I was?”

“Yes! You wouldn't know, Harvey was always on his best behaviour with you.” - Jim made a disbelieving face at that. - “He was. You haven't known him for ten years like Alvarez and I. He warmed up to you _very_ quickly.” - Another grimace. - “He _did_. You have no idea how vicious he can get when he feels low. That thing with Branden? Not uncommon.”

Jim looked worried at that. Then his phone rang again and this time he looked down, irritated. He jumped and answered, in a panic.

“Gordon? Has something happened?”

He waited for a reply, and his face stilled.

“I need to go!” he announced after hanging up. “Barb' is in labour.”

 

###

 

Jim's son was born at roughly three in the morning, and not immediately named. Jim had been pushing off telling Barbara that he wasn't too fond of that “James Jr.” thing, even though it was the kind of silly tradition her parents would encourage. He had not planned on the boy being premature.

His name still ended up being James Jr., because Mrs. Keane had arrived while Jim was sleeping on the chair next to the baby's incubator, and had bullied her daughter into picking it.

 

###

 

Holding his boy in his arms for the first time, Jim found that he didn't care about the “Jr.” thing. “A rose by any other name”. He grinned the entire day. Hell, he grinned the entire week.

 

###

 

Jim had called Harvey every day. He had neither answered nor called back. The blonde kept trying all the same. That silence left a sour taste in his mouth, and he was both worried and angry, but he tried to push that down. _Not an easy man to be friends with_. He knew both Sarah and Alvarez visited him, tracking him down if necessary, so he left him space. Phone calls weren't _too_ pushy, he hoped.

“Hey”, he said in his fourteenth text message, one week after James' birth. “Alvarez tells me you're alive, so I figure you are just ignoring me - _fuckwit_ \- and I don't plan to give up, you know that? I promise no lectures and no sappiness if you call me back. Come on.”

That message went unanswered too.

 

###

 

Ten days after his son's birth, Jim went to Harvey's prostitute friends, since the man was nowhere to be found. He had tried his flat, and every bar within walking distance of it. He had even questioned the teenage cashier at the corner store, with no results.

Marsha gave him the name of the seediest bar in Gotham and advised him not to go. He went.

“Hey there, Harv'”, he said as he sat next to him on a bench that had been polished with dirt and grease.

His partner did not turn, did not answer, did not show a sign he had noticed him. Jim had come in in a cheerful and optimistic mood (as it turned out, being a parent made you really happy). That mood turned sour in a matter of seconds.

“Harv.”

His friend stared at his vodka and still did not react.

“Harv, for fuck's _sake_.”

The older man sighed, exasperated.

“You can't take a hint, can you?”

“Apparently not. I'm an asshat, as you keep telling me.”

Harvey tensed at that. Jim went to the bar to get himself a beer, giving him some time to calm down. When he went back to the table, he had not relaxed, on the contrary. Tracking him down in a public space had been a mistake, he realized. Lately, the only way he had found to break through to Harvey had been touch. He could hardly try that in the middle of a crowded bar.

He wanted to.

He drank and waited for the man to say something, anything, but that never happened. After half an hour of successively waiting, praying and despairing, Jim got out and went to wait next to Harvey's car instead. He had a feeling they needed to talk, even though his partner did not want to. Especially because he did not want to.

“Give me your keys”, he said two hours later, when Harvey came out of the building swaying like a man at sea.

“Jesus blazing Christ.”

“Keys.”

“Will you drop the fucking stalker thing and just leave me the hell alone?”

Jim clenched his teeth and did not relent. Then they glared at each other, and the blonde won that staring contest easily. He was not the one about to pass out drunk. _This is Roger all over again_.

“I'm sleeping on the back-seat”, Harvey said as he handed him the car keys. “Don't you for a second think I'm gonna let you trap me into spending the night at your place.”

 _Trap_.

_You have no idea how vicious he can get when he feels low._

That was nothing, barely even an attempt to hurt him. Jim knew it could get much worse.

“We need to talk”, he said, feeling empty.

“About _what the bloody hell_?”

The blonde closed his eyes and tried to find the magical words that would defuse the situation. _What do you say to calm down a petulant, drunk child?_ Asking why he was closing up would get him a 'you should know that'. His friend had built himself a wall of rage, and would _enjoy_ throwing bricks at his face. They were alone, so he could try to reach out, touch him, knowing full well Harvey would give in in a few seconds. But that was not what Harvey wanted. That much was clear. As for the rest of his thoughts...

“About what you _want_ , Harv', because I swear I have no clue.”

 

###

 

Harvey _had_ let himself be trapped into spending the night at Jim's place.

“I'm too fucking drunk for that conversation”, he had said.

That had been after he had clenched his fists so hard that Jim had been ready to block a punch. But, after a few moments of tense silence, he had relaxed a little, and answered.

The younger man had driven them to his place, let Harvey collapse on the sofa, and gone to bed. He woke early, with his partner still snoring. He showered, then prepared coffee and made himself a bowl of cereal.

“Hey”, Harvey called, covering his eyes with his elbow.

“Hey.”

“Mind if I shower?”

“Go ahead.”

The older man vanished for a full thirty minutes, which he was clearly not spending under the running shower. Jim was sure of that, seeing how you couldn't get more than five minutes of warm water.

“So, got any pictures of that kid you kept messaging me about?” Harvey asked when he finally got out of the bathroom.

Jim perked up at that - and that was bloody unfair shameless cheating, using the newborn son card - but still got the envelope of freshly developed photos he had picked up the morning before. They sat on the sofa, Jim gushed over his boy, and Harvey teased him. “You're sure you're not the mother? You're as mushy as a teenage girl, I swear”. The blonde replied by making faces.

Then he put the envelope away and served them both coffee.

“Now, do you even remember last night?” he asked, sitting next to Harvey.

“What I want is to stop with the sex. Not that it wasn't nice, what with you being vastly out of my league and all. I was more than happy to sample the goods. I just don't want it to continue.”

Jim absorbed that, but it was not really a surprise. It still stung.

“Fair enough.”

His friend patted his shoulder, then blew on his steaming coffee and took a sip.

“Why not?” Jim asked, not totally managing not to sound like a whiny teenage girl.

“'Cause it'll bite us in the ass. You're not a friend with benefits kind of guy.” - He clicked his tongue when Jim opened his mouth to protest. - “You're _not_. We covered that. High school sweetheart and fiancée and nothing else.”

“I can be!” the blonde still lied.

Harvey rolled his eyes and did not even bother answering that.

“And I'm a one night stands and prostitutes kind of guy. My point being, you're my best friend. Let's not fuck up something very fine for cock, that's just plain stupid.”

It was a very wise, very credible explanation. And Jim was sure his partner could find a dozen others and formulate them perfectly, just to cover up what the real problem was. He was also sure Harvey saw right through him and had for months, since even before the blonde had first confessed being attracted to him. _“Not a friends with benefits kind of guy”_. Of course, he would have seen Jim loved him, well before he himself could put a word on what he felt. Granted, every single event ever took place before “this exact moment”.

Jim chuckled.

“Alright. That's a very valid point.”

Harvey grinned.

“Yeah, I'm always right.”

 

###

 

Harvey, of course, kept drinking himself into a stupor every night. When he came back to work after his suspension, he was an insufferable bastard, and Jim weathered the storm. Harv' was only mildly unpleasant with him, anyway.

Barbara suggested to make him James' godfather. Harvey spent an hour laughing in his car when Jim told him, with the blonde rolling his eyes on the passenger seat.

They closed a few cases. Jim made sure not to leave him unattended in the precinct if he could see suicidal jackasses around. He held his shoulder when he could see memories of Fish Mooney coming back to him.

They went for beers after work.

Then, the music box vigilante killed again.

 

###

###


	14. #1 crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we enter part two of the story!  
> Did I mention all hell would break loose? That would be in this part.

 “You see, boys, you don’t always have to go in with all guns blazing”, Butch said in his best this-is-a-teaching-opportunity voice. “Sometimes, you don’t even have to go in at all.”

And he parked his van, the third van, against the third and last door of the Weatherby Brewery. He kept close to the wall, destroying the side mirror and the passenger door in the process. The closer, the better. He didn’t want that van to be moved. He jumped out, so did his men, and he handed them the jerrycans of gasoline they had brought. Then, they soaked the walls of the place with the stuff, poured it through the basement windows, and took a few steps back.

The doors were condemned, there were no windows on the first floor and, if anyone was crazy enough to try to jump from higher, they had brought guns.

“Boss, this is gonna be _glorious_ ”, Lynns said.

You could hear Maroni’s men, inside, swearing as they tried to get out. Good luck with that. The vans were filled with bags of sand, for extra weight.

“I think so too. Shall we start with the molotovs?”

 

###

 

“So, any ID on our guy here?” Jim asked, circling around their newest victim.

Their killer had gone to town on the guy. Twenty stab wounds were nothing to scoff at.

“Brandon Foster”, Harvey replied. “Our guy was on the run after being the prime suspect in an abduction-rape-murder thing, a fourteen years old girl. It was an open case, too, Parker and Wilson are going to be real happy here.”

Jim crouched. The music box killer had left his pin drum in a transparent plastic bag, with the victim’s ID. To the other inhabitants of the trailer park, he had been Anton Young, some deadbeat, unemployed guy from Chicago, and that for six months. They had found his body in in the morning, sitting against his mobile home. It had been there for hours, just out of sight from the main paths.

“Is Lamb still in Blackgate?”

“Got out four days ago. The guy has been busy”, Harvey commented.

“Let’s send a car pick him up.”

“Yeah. I wonder if he bothered with an alibi this time.”

Jim closed his eyes and thought about the last time he had seen Simon Lamb, when he had wanted intel about that first rape victim. Was there a possibility that the man was being framed? Their perp was nothing if not organized.

“Let’s get back to the precinct. Ed, I want you to examine the cylinder first, we’ll need the thing.”

They walked back to the car, and started the long drive back to the GCPD, all the way across town. Jim slowed down as they passed over Pioneer’s bridge. One of the buildings on the side of the river was smoking, windows blazing with fire.

“What the hell is happening now?” Harv moaned, taking in the scene.

Jim glanced to his right, just long enough to see two fire trucks parked well away from the burning building, and two lines of men facing each other. One side was in yellows - firemen, he supposed - the other in greys and blacks. They were blocking the way.

“Let’s check.”

“Oh no we don’t! Those guys are _armed_. And there’s twenty of them.”

“Then we call for backup _and_ we check.”

“I didn’t hear the word ‘wait’ in that sentence.”

Jim rolled his eyes and stepped on the gas pedal. Traffic being what it was, it took them ten solid minutes to arrive on the scene. At that point, the firemen had started working, and the other men were nowhere in sight.

“What happened here?” Jim asked to one of the firemen, showing his badge.

“Can’t see for yourself? Arson. We get a call just as the fire starts from the building across the river, and when we arrive? Twenty guys waiting for us with UZIs. We couldn’t even get near.”

Harvey cocked his hat and looked to the building, then to the vans blocking its doors.

“Maroni is gonna be _riiiiiiight_ pissed.”

“Maroni?”

“This is one of his places”, the older man explained. “Brewery and, you know, factory for a few other more powdery things.”

Jim turned to the fireman.

“Anyone got out of that place alive?”

“Yeah. Three guys, behind the place. It did them little good, they were gunned down when they tried to run.”

Jim groaned. Harvey _chuckled_. The blonde whirled to him, with a murderous glare that got him to shut up, but not to stop smiling. He turned back to the fireman.

“Can you describe those men?”

“Er, the flaming building filled with alcohol and drugs was distracting and all. But their boss came to talk to talk to our captain. Real polite guy.”

“Real po… Describe the man.”

“Fat, dark hair, big smile. First thing he said was something like ‘We really respect all the work you do, guys, yada yada. Real brave. Honourable job. Now, no one needs to be hurt here’. About at that point, one of the men inside jumped from the second floor and got shot at. So the man groans, and says ‘Sorry, terrible timing here. As I was saying, none of _you_ needs to be hurt, so we would be really grateful if you could stand aside for a few moments. Until the screaming stops, maybe?’. He also told us not to breathe the fumes.”

Jim looked at his unfazed expression.

“None too shaken, are you?”

“Come on, this is Gotham. Sometimes you have to let it go.”

The blonde huffed, furious.

“And what happened then?”

“Then the screaming stopped and the fat man drove off with his men, and we went to check what was left to do.”

Harvey laughed, a dark, mean, nasty laugh that sent shivers through Jim’s spine. _For fuck’s sake._

“ _Riiiiight_ pissed”, his partner muttered. And he chuckled some more.

 

###

 

“Victor, Victor, Victor. My _friend_ ”, Oswald said as Zsasz entered his home, fidgeting and smothering a grin. “I have heard the most _concerning_ rumours.”

He had been waiting for him, sitting on the sofa, right in front of the door. He saw his visitor's face twitch and pale at his words, as the monster grew terrified of losing the entertainment he had been providing. The term 'rumours' was really more of a conversation opener. Oswald had heard _nothing_. He had seen, however, with his own eyes, Victor snatch homeless people off the streets to bring them to his place. They were never seen again.

Zsasz closed the door.

“What kind of rumours, creep?”

“Undress.”

The hitman stared at him.

“Undress”, Oswald repeated, getting his knife out. He pressed the tip of the blade to that perpetually open spot in the middle of his own palm, and twisted it until the fresh crusts fell to let a drop of blood appear. Victor shivered, as he ought to. He licked his lips, danced from one foot to another, and swallowed hard.

“The shirt?”

“No. Everything. Let me see your tally.”

Zsasz bit his lip to the blood and did not comply.

“If you cannot obey me”, Oswald pointed out, “I will not be able to trust you with job opportunities. You know that. I will not have you working for me if you do not listen to my orders.”

“You can trust me with jobs. I'm the best. I am. Creep.”

“And you will stop calling me creep, while we are at it. You can call me Mister Cobblepot. Or, if you are _especially_ pleasant and obedient, Oswald. Now, strip.”

And he twisted the blade in his own flesh until his blood started flowing. Such a little sting for the power it bought him, really. Victor all but jumped out of his clothes. Oswald stood and looked at him, counting the marks. The _freak_ had attempted to hide his hunting. His arm was covered in Carmine's tally, his lower leg in Oswald's, but if you looked to his hip and buttocks, you could find two dozen fresh cuts, some still bleeding. He probed one with the tip of his blade. Victor's breath caught.

“This won't do”, the younger man said.

And it _wouldn't_. If the man learned to find his own kills, then Oswald would have no power over him at all. He had been providing him with an endless supply of targets, but if the creature needed more, then he would have to find more. Zsasz could not be allowed to acquire the means to feed his own urges.

“I thought we were clear. You kill on my order and Don Falcone's only. Now, if you are _bored_ , I _assure_ you I am not running short of enemies. And should I... I have no particular fondness for street walkers and beggars, do I? I can accompany you to collect toys from the gutter.”

Zsasz was panting.

“You will still let me work for you?”

“We will see about that.”

“You will still _pay_ me?”

Oswald's entire back _burned_ at that. The payment was never a pleasant one, but the best weapons were worth their pound of flesh. He cut a deep mark into the monster's tight.

“We will see. Now, let's find you someone to play with.”

 

###

 

“Does anyone have any idea of what this music is?” Jim asked around, cranking up the music box so it would play the air again.

He had asked nearly everyone, and whatever the song was this time, it had to be _obscure._

“That sounds like that creepy, creepy song from the nineties”, Mary had hazarded.

She had not been able to remember the title. Jim kept trying, moving from desk to desk until Harvey groaned that he was going to call Vivian, his karaoke star friend. He ended up not having to, as Simon Lamb was brought in before he could get to his phone.

“I take it someone died?” he said as they dragged him to an interrogation room.

Jim studied him. He was thinner and paler, but kept his insufferable smile. _Cocky bastard_.

“Don't play _coy_ ”, Harvey snapped. “Strange how nothing happens when you're in Blackgate and then you get out and, WHAM, body.”

Simon lifted his eyebrows.

“I believe you start by asking me 'sir, what were you doing on that day between hour A and hour B?', not the whole 'my gut tells me' thing. The gut thing is just a step above divination, you know?”

“Simon, cut the crap”, Jim sighed. “And if you insist, where were you yesterday between noon and four?”

“Home, on the phone with every HR manager in Gotham? I've been calling every place I applied to this week. You know, in case someone is nice enough to disregard a felony.”

“We'll get your phone records, then.”

“Please do”, Lamb said.

And he grinned. Jim collected himself. The young man _enjoyed_ being unpleasant, and the cop had ample training against that kind of behaviour, considering Harvey's recent mood. Calmly, he put the music box on the table and cranked it up.

“What song is this?” he asked.

Simon swallowed hard, looking at the music box, and listened. He quickly began to tap his fingers on the table.

“I know that one”, he muttered with a pensive look. “I can't place it. Nineties hit, I think?”

Jim played the tune again. Lamb snapped his fingers, one, two, three times, seemingly frustrated. Then he lit up and smirked.

“I have it.”

He tapped the table until the song started over, then quoted its lyrics.

“Hello girl, wanna go for a ride? There's room and nananananana... We can cruise down something's street all night long... _But I think I'll just rape you and kill you instead_.”

Jim looked at him and thought of Leslie's words after she had seen the body. “That was personal. There's three times as many stab wounds as with the previous victims, and the tearing indicates that the killer wanted to intensify the damage. He didn't just stab, he cut through the flesh and tore it apart.”

Then again, the previous stabbing victims had not gone after teenage girls, had they?

“You absolute fucker, you better confess before I _bash your skull in_ ”, Harvey shouted.

Jim raised his hand to interrupt him.

“And what would be the song's title?”

“Diane”, Lamb stated. “The artist, though, I can't seem to remember. So, was your victim a child molester?”

Jim ignored that last question.

“I hope you won't mind if we keep you in for a few hours while we check your alibi.”

“Of course no. Just throw in a few hardened killers and I'll feel right at home.”

The cop took a long, deep breath and dragged Harvey out before he could make good on his threats.

 

###

 

Things had been turning to shit for months now. Sal's men had been falling like flies, with no way to pin the murders on anyone since Falcone's psycho had managed to be in the same room as both Salvatore and Carmine during several of the killings. And now, the fucking brewery.

He had dealt with all of that crap, then gone home, grabbed Kelly, and dragged her to his bedroom. A man needed his ten minutes of peace and quiet every now and then.

She grimaced when he slipped out of her, and that was what snapped him out of his thoughts. _You idiot, you pay her to clean your crap, not to fuck you. You can't use her like a whore and hope she'll grin through it._ He had plenty of girls at his disposal for that purpose, too. The redhead had just happened to be at hand.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yep. Well, it stings a bit? Not that I minded two minutes ago”, she said with a smile. “So... The day wasn't good?”

“I've seen better”, he replied, disposing of the condom.

“That sucks. Want another go? Quick, though, 'cause I still have to do the second floor's bedrooms before I go home.”

He chuckled. Minx. Unfortunately, his appointments would not wait.

“No one ever uses those bloody rooms. You just go and take a long warm shower and run off, okay?”

She smiled again.

“Thanks, boss!”

He watched her hurry to the bathroom, and went to his wife's for a shower of his own. Then he got dressed, collected his bodyguards, and walked out. The first thing he saw was his driver dead in the car. Then his guards were shot dead. Then, two of his other (and very dead) men fell from the roof. Then there were about six shots from the inside of the house, the last on sending bloody flesh through the exploding kitchen window.

One plus four plus two plus six summed up to 'no more men'. Aw, _shit_.

Ten guys walked out of the house - or climbed out of the broken kitchen window, in one case - and surrounded him.

“What do you fuckers want?” he asked.

They were all creepy bastards. Twitching never meant anything good. Twitching in joy because you got to fondle a gun? That usually meant worse. The youngest of them didn't have a gun, just a zippo. _Oh joy, a fire freak._

“Boys, that was _nice_ work!” a familiar voice called from inside.

Sal turned to see Butch Gilzean get out of his house through the front door. Well, the brewery thing and the familial genocide mystery were solved.

“You son of a bitch, I thought you were in Chicago.”

“Nah, you know me, Sal”, Gilzean said as he walked to him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “It just took me a while to collect all the unwanted, psychotic, murderous bastards no one else would work with. There's no place like home.”

“Well I always thought your home was up Fish's ass, and I hear it went missing, so I figured you'd crawl up some deep dark hole and leave us the fuck alone.”

“You're funny. Isn't he funny, boys?”

The 'boys' nodded.

“Now, let me get this straight. From my understanding, you sold Maria to Falcone for five hundred grands, two judges, a casino and Indian Hill.”

“Is this going to be one of those long drawn out things where you talk me to death? 'Cause guns work well, you know.”

Gilzean clicked his tongue, and took Salvatore's gun out of his holster. He emptied the magazine then threw the weapon away.

“Nah, you misunderstand my intent here. I have no wish to kill you.”

In the current context, that meant bad news.

“Really, now?”

“Absolutely not, Sal! I like you alive. Very much alive, until I'm done burning down everything you own, and butchering every single one of your guys, and what was I gonna finish with again? Ah _yes_! Blowing your wife's brains in as those cute twin boys of yours watch. Then the boys', I wouldn't want them to grow up all twisted.”

Sal punched him in the gut and got shot in the knee. Gilzean watched him collapse.

“Well look at that, you'll have a fantastic seat for the show.” - He turned to the teenage freak with the zippo. - “Do your thing, kiddo. Go insane.”

 

###

 

Barbara was exhausted. Dealing with a three months old baby was hard. She loved James. She really loved James. She couldn't wait for him to sleep through the night, though. The sleep deprivation was getting intolerable. Selina was around to help. Barbara thanked the gods for that girl, who might have been prickly and full of bravado, but still deeply cared about younger kids. However, one couldn't ask too much of a fourteen years old. She deserved to be a child too.

Ivy was harder to deal with. Jim had moved in - partly - as he wanted to be with James as much as possible. It was a good thing, like being roommates with one's oldest friend. No pressure, no flirting, just taking care of the baby and sharing jokes. And pretending you weren't in love anymore, in Barbara's case. Jim didn't have to pretend. Still, it was good. Ivy... Ivy didn't cope with his return very well. “You are the reason my father and my mother died”, she had snapped.

The apartment was full of invisible lines Jim could not cross.

Still, as long that they mostly avoided each other, they could tolerate each other.

Then, Barbara found Ivy mixing rat poison with Jim's spicy meat snacks.

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could have been titled Maria, after that Blondie song I might have mentioned in every chapter ever. This is Butch's chapter. "Go insane and out of your mind".


	15. Murder by numbers

Jim opened the bag of beef jerky Barbara gave him, inspected its contents, and swore.

“Where is Ivy now?”

“I have no idea. She just ran out, and I was holding James, I couldn't catch her. Selina is searching for her.”

Barbara paced, rocking James against her. The baby slept like a stone, totally undisturbed by his mother's growing panic and Jim's worried mood.

“I'll see if I can find her, bring her back to Juvenile Services.”

“So she can end up in Alpena's correctional facility? You will do no such thing. That girl needs help.”

“She just tried to poison us! What kind of help do you think we can provide when she's in _that_ mindset to begin with?”

“It was overly optimistic of me to think I could keep her under the same roof as you. Still, that doesn't mean she must be thrown out. She has  _issues_ , who wouldn't in her situation? Her father died, her mother killed herself, then she spent weeks on the streets. She needs therapy, and a safe home, not a cell.”

“And we can't provide that, can we? We can't keep her here. What if she hurts you? What if she hurts James?”

“I've called a friend.”

Jim frowned at that. Barbara did not  _have_ friends, just millions of acquaintances who would as soon kill themselves as discuss giving her any  _help_ . Except, of course...

“Montoya. You called Montoya.”

No matter how much the woman's support had helped Barbara with her recovery, Jim didn't quite manage to shake the rage that the mere mention of her name caused.  _'When Barbara left, she went to Montoya's'_ . He knew it made no sense. He was  _over_ Barb'. He still loathed Montoya.

“Yes, I called Renee. She might not be the best choice, but her place is large enough to take a teenager in, she can be harsh when necessary, and  _she's the only option I could see_ .”

“What did she say?”

“She said she would try, provided Ivy allowed her to. She's looking into the Wayne's case, too, so Ivy might definitely be swayed by that. She has mentioned  _many_ times that she would find who had her father framed. She was not talking about you.”

Jim groaned.  _He_ was still attempting to look into the case, when he could - which was not much. Between his work, his child, and the absence of leads, there was little he could do. Selina was set on denying she had seen the killer, and though he suspected she was lying about that, he could not prove it.

“So am I”, he admitted. “That does not make me better suited to take care of Ivy Pepper, nor does it make  _Montoya_ a good choice.”

“She's still in touch with some psychiatrists from back when she worked with Special Victims. She can make it so Ivy gets treatment even though her legal status is more than complicated. And I will  _drag_ the girl the a doctor myself every day if need be. As for Renee, she has her faults, and I know that  _much_ better than you do. But she worked hard to get her life in order. She's a good cop. She's a good  _person_ .”

Jim shook his head.

“What about we discuss this once we find Ivy?” he snapped. “Because she might very well be three towns away by now.”

 

###

 

Sarah and Carlos joined Edward, who was collecting evidence around their newest victim. He smiled as he noticed them, and lifted a transparent plastic bag that contained a pin drum. Sarah grimaced. Brandon Foster had been found less than twelve hours before. They didn't need a second corpse so soon. This one had been found by fishermen, laying next to the river. It had clearly been there for a while. The man had been shot, and not stabbed, and his ID was pinned to his shirt, in another plastic bag.

She cut off Edward as he opened his mouth. She was not in the mood for riddles.

“Time of death?”

“Yesterday afternoon, maybe earlier. Doctor Thompkins and I have been trying to pinpoint the exact time, but the body was left in the rain for several hours. It makes things difficult.”

“Any prints on that cylinder?”

Edward shook his head.

“I already checked. Like the previous one, it has been meticulously cleaned.”

Sarah snatched the bag, and memorized the name on the victim's ID. Carl Patterson. Carlos frowned as she read it aloud.

“I know that one. That guy has been on the run for ten years. Let's get back.”

Half an hour later, at the precinct, Harvey  _grinned_ at the news of the man's death.

“That music box guy was getting on my nerves but I guess I can go and thank him now. Shit, I thought Patterson was in Europe by now. One of my cases”, he explained at Sarah's confused expression. “From back when I was a rookie, with Dix. Dude brought his girlfriend to the river, shot her dead, tried to get her body to sink afterwards. He did a shitty job of it, too, 'cause she floated away until she hit a barge.”

“You were sure it was him?”

“Yeah. He had skipped town by the time we were called, had been nice enough to drop the gun into the water, a gun he  _owned_ , so no big mystery on who the killer was. We never found him, though. Well, until now, I guess.”

He chuckled. Sarah closed her eyes and tried not to punch him. She had had enough of his insufferable, nasty mood.

“Is Simon Lamb still in?” she asked.

“No. We had to let him go, four separate guys told us they had him on the phone yesterday's afternoon, his phone records confirm that. Now, it's not hard to pay a hobo to pretend to be you on the phone...” 

While they talked, Carlos had retrieved the music box and inserted the newest cylinder. He cranked the mechanism up. They all went silent as the music played, then Harvey started laughing.

“I'll be damned.”

“What  _is_ the song?” Sarah snapped.

“Neil young. Down by the river. 'I shot my baby, oh, shot her dead'.”

She groaned.

“I see.”

“This is a real good day”, Bullock commented.

“I wouldn't call it that.”

“Well, between this and Maroni's house burning down? I vote for fantastic day.”

She stared at him.  _What?_

 

###

 

Renee walked into Salvatore Maroni's hospital room, chin up, defying the two bulky men standing by his door to even  _comment_ .

“Detective Montoya! What a surprise!” the crime lord greeted her from his bed. “I wasn't expecting a visit!”

“Turns out I'm on the Weatherby Brewery case. As well as your home's”, she added. “Same perpetrators, I would say. Don't you think so?”

“Well, you know, I was not there when the brewery burned. As for my home, as you might recall, I was shot. I'm sorry to say I passed out and couldn't even see who fired at me.”

“If there's a new player in town who is easy enough to come after you with twenty men in your home, you're not going to lose time to share that information with your 'immediate family'. It will be all over town in two hours. Why don't we skip the games?”

“I assure you I saw  _jack shit_ .”

“Well, I'll just go and question your remaining staff, then. You're lucky, the civilians survived.”

Maroni nodded at that, with something that was not concerned enough to be relief. Approval, maybe? He turned to his henchmen at the door.

“Cristiano! You go find everyone who got out of the fire safe, and you make sure everyone gets nice severance packages. See if there's openings at the restaurant for those who need to keep working.”

Renee watched the man walk away.

“Who was it, Maroni?”

“I'll call you if my memory comes back”, he replied. “Now, can you leave? I'd like not to have company when my wife arrives. She had such a scare, you know.”

Montoya shook her head and left. Crispus would know everything in less than an hour, anyway. Still, being aware of Maroni's mood remained important.

She checked her phone, hoping for a message from her partner, but found one from Barbara instead. They had located Ivy. She called back to discuss the matter, and drove home to be there as the girl arrived with Barbara and Jim. It ended up being Barb' and Selina, who were all but dragging Ivy Pepper.

“Welcome”, Renee greeted them.

_What the hell have I signed up for?_

“You get inside this instant, Ivy Pepper, or so help me God I will carry you”, Barbara snapped.

The redhead walked in. Barbara snorted and followed. Selina shook her head in consternation and walked away with a dismissive “See ya later”.

Inside, Barb' was  _mothering_ Ivy. It was a nagging, tantrumy sort of mothering, but the young woman had hardly ever been exposed to parenting, just to nannies. You could see she cared, that was the most important. Renee smiled. Having someone to care for was good for Barbara. She was not made to be alone and - even surrounded by dozens of acquaintances as she was - she had a tendency to build her world around a single person. More often than not, it ended up with her being the dependant one in the relationship. It was good for her to be in charge. It would help her to keep herself in check. She was trying her best, the cop knew it. Therapy, A.A. meetings, sports and yoga when she could take the baby with her... She looked much better, too, finally healthy and calm.

“And you won't make faces like this, young lady!”

Well, mostly calm. Still, considering the girl she was disciplining had been attempting murder, she was very, very calm. Positively relaxed.

“So, what about we see if we can find Ivy a bed?” Renee asked.

 

###

 

Jim entered the precinct and watched as every woman in the room turned to him with a warm smile. Carrying an occupied baby seat had its perks. He knew the warmth was directed at James, but you could still feel a huge decrease in the level of hostility in the bullpen, compared to when he walked in  _alone_ .

He walked to the stairs and got swarmed. 

“He’s so cute!”

“He grew so much already. Is he starting to sleep whole nights?”

“Interesting fact: the parietal lobe of babies is developing rapidly at this age, and you can discern major increases in hand-eye coordination.”

Harvey called him from his desk, leaning over the balcony ledge. 

“Are you done using my godson as a flirting accessory? Only I get to do that!”

“Nah, come on,  _you_ don’t need the help”, Jim piped back, extracting the baby from the circle of curious observers. 

He climbed the stairs and deposited the seat on his desk. James gurgled and started kicking and waving his arms.

“I swear if we get a repeat of the dirty diapers disaster, I’m going home”, Harvey said. “Why isn’t he with his mom?”

“She had a thing”, Jim replied, unwilling to discuss attempted murder by possibly traumatized street kids slash squatters. 

“Well, I hope you’re ready to carry the tyke all over town, because we have two new bodies. One is already in the morgue, and the other was just found in the dumpster under his apartment building.”

“Wait, all from our perp?”

“Yeah, all killed yesterday while Simon Lamb was ‘on the phone’ with a metric fuckton of people who can vouch for him. Alvarez called some of them in, he’s making them listen to some of Lamb’s voice recordings, from when we questioned him.”

“That’s not going to be much help. And three in a  _day_ ? Holy hell.”

“I love how your kid will learn to swear before he can say ‘Mama’. Barb’ will be so happy.”

Jim cringed. 

“In other news, we have Alvarez with us full time on this”, Harvey added. “Collins has a ‘medical thing’. And there’s a car tailing Lamb  _again_ .”

Sarah got out of her office at that point, and joined them.

“The day keeps getting  _better_ ”, she sighed. “Third arson of the day, on one of Maroni’s warehouses. Well, if it can be called arson. From what the witnesses told us, a car drove by, a man got out and fired inside with a  _rocket launcher_ . The place was filled to the brim with alcohol.”

Harvey started laughing. Jim stared at her.  _Three?_

“I'll explain on the way, come on”, his partner said.

“I'm not going anywhere, I can't take a baby to a crime scene!”

“We'll just leave him in the car while we deal with the dead guy.”

“What?  _No!_ ”

“Don't worry, just kidding.  _Hey people!_ ” Harvey shouted, turning to the bullpen. “Who's up for a surprise adoption?”

Ten minutes later, they were driving across town.

“Stop looking at me like that, we both knew the cap' would volunteer”, Harvey to a glaring Jim. “And it's a short trip anyway. We go, take a look, pick the pin drum, we'll be back to the precinct in twenty minutes.”

“You just had me abandon my newborn child.”

Harv' swerved a bit as he turned to him.

“When have I ever managed to get you to do something you did not want to?  _Ever_ ?”

“Look at the road! And  _plenty of times_ .”

“Not  _once_ !”

“Now you know that's not true.”

“Not. Once.”

“There was that time you had me try that devil's bargain burger.”

“Which you did because they were out of hot dogs. Not  _once_ , I'm saying.”

By that point, Jim had forgotten he was  _trying_ to be angry. He was grinning and wanted Harvey to park the car so he could grab him and kiss him. As it turned out, stopping to hook up with your best friend did not magically turn the relationship platonic again. It still felt like a sexual thing, except with self-imposed abstinence. Jim had to watch his hands constantly so they wouldn't somehow end up on Harvey. While the the blonde did quite a good job of it, his partner did not, which made for very frustrating days, especially considering that  _Harvey_ was the one who did not want to continue with the whole thing. But the older man was not comfortable with the idea, and Jim knew it. Opposed as Harvey was to expressing actual feelings, the fact that he had given  _several_ deep, heartfelt reasons not to proceed meant there was something  _else_ deeper still.

Harvey was a good man, and he could show altruism, but only to a point. He could admit to caring, but only to a point. And he could admit to fear, when he did not feel it. Jim was  _paying attention_ , though, so he could see he was receiving special treatment. Harvey was insufferable with everyone else, even Sarah. Yet Jim could walk into his personal space - when the others seemed to circle around some invisible wall - and see him  _relax_ . He knew Harvey  _cared_ , and that there was more than a little self-preservation in the way he kept pulling away. 

Jim was alright with that. He could deal with the lust. This was not like their job, where there was a set of rules to follow and Harvey had to be dragged and pushed until he followed them. He had every right to do as he pleased with his personal life.

“Well now there's a 'once'”, Jim said.

His partner laughed.

 

###

 

Carlos knocked on Pamela Olsen's door, hoping the girl would finally be home. He had come to her house once already, found it empty, and had then tried the clothing store she worked at, only to discover she was on her day off.

Thankfully, Marcy Sanders and Jonathan Tucker had been easier to find. Not that talking to them had brought him any kind of useful information. 

“Where I was yesterday, during work hours on a weekday when I have a full time job?” Sanders had snapped. “Gee, I wonder.”

Tucker had been more polite about it, but had given roughly the same answer. As far as he knew, Olsen had the same alibi. Her manager had told him she'd been in the store from ten in the morning to to nine in the evening. Checking her state of mind would not hurt, though.

When the blonde finally opened the door, her face was a mess of poorly applied powder over red eyes and flushed cheeks. It was clear she had been crying.

“Detective Alvarez. Come in”, she invited in, taking a deep, slurping breath.

He nodded and followed her in, taking in the vivid pop style deco with a pink wall covered in white butterfly stickers, and the three others - white - covered in Wharol-style prints of cartoon animals. The sofa was mauve, the cushions every shade of rainbow, the curtains orange. Every surface was covered in plastic figurines: Bambi, Elmyra Duff, a redhead duck girl and what looked like baby Daisy, and dozens more. It made one's eyes hurt.

“Are you alright?” he asked after she pointed the sofa so he would sit.

“Tuck called me. Said there have been new murders, that you would visit.”

She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

“Unfortunately, we  _did_ find new victims”, he confirmed.

“I was at work”, she hurried to say. “All day yesterday and the day before. Today I was shopping.”

“We're not questioning your alibi. I already met with your manager, while I was trying to contact you. No, this is more of a courtesy visit, to inform you that there's some evolution in the case.”

“DouyoureallythinkSimondidit?”

“He seems to have an alibi this time, and we are exploring a few other leads. Do you know  _anyone_ who might want to frame him?”

She shook her head.

“What if he did?” she asked in a broken voice.

“If he did, we will find out. If he did not, any information could help us find the actual killer. Someone who might have reasons to throw Simon to the wolves. Does anyone come to mind?”

She shook her head.

“I... I don't know. Simon is prickly, was always prickly, but... Killing people like that and then framing him? I don't see who would be that mean.”

“Do you still have my card?”, Carlos said, handing her another copy just in case. “Just call me if you remember something.”

He had asked the same thing of her two friends. Who knew? Maybe there  _was_ something to remember.

 

###

 

Sarah all but threw James into Jim's arms as the detective entered her office.

“You are  _not_ to bring him to the precinct again, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, captain”, the blonde said, rocking his boy in the most adorable way as he cooed and played with his nose.

“He's doing that so you forget you're angry”, Harvey whispered.

_It's working_ . She shook her head.

“Who's our victim?”

“Rino Ciotti”, Gordon replied. “Hitman, worked mostly for Maroni, known as a bit of a chemist and poisoner. He was poisoned himself, and dragged to the dumpsters in his building's parking lot. His 'song' is 'murder by numbers' by The Police, which Vivian “ - he looked to Harvey - “swore was a song about evil politicians, but has a line about slipping a tablet into someone's coffee.”

Sarah groaned. Harvey chuckled.

“It's really a shitty day for Maroni.”

Jim leaned towards him, barely, just enough for their shoulders to brush, and Bullock quieted.

“We're going to drop the baby back at Barbara's and grab something to eat. It's getting late”, he announced, “then we'll come back and see if we can find something we overlooked.”

She nodded and let them go, then locked her door and sat for a few moments, trying to calculate who she could put on that investigation to help them and whether she should accept Renee Montoya's offer to let MCU join in on this. “This is personal”, the woman had said. “I knew those kids.”

After a few minutes, she called Montoya and told her to offer her help to her three men, but to back down if she met hostility.

Then she opened her door, and called Carlos in.

“Want to go for beers?” she offered. “I have half an hour.”

They saw each other more and more, though she had never invited him. He had always been the one who came up with ideas for meals and drinks. Their evenings out were one of the three good things in her life. In his company, her darkest thoughts receded, replaced by a litany of “you are absolutely allowed to find a man attractive, Sarah, please just enjoy the sight and stop hating yourself for it”. So, she wasn't over Michael. She wasn't made of ice, however, and Carlos was  _reliable_ . Good-looking too, she supposed,  _oh priorities._

“You're coming back to work too?” he asked at her offer.

“Yes, I have to come up with more resources to allocate to the music box killer investigation. I had an idea, I'm not yet sure how it will turn out. Anyway, I need a break.”

He smiled.

“Let's go, then.”

She nodded. Her phone rang. She picked it up, had a very strenuous ten minutes long conversation, then immediately called Jim.

“You need to come back as soon as you can. We have another pin drum. No, no murder this time, but our perp broke into Gregory Howe's home.”

 

###

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three cases of arson, three bodies discovered, several executions, some poisoning, and a break in. In Gotham, they call that "Wednesday".


	16. Lowlife

“So, this was a quick thing”, the young cop said. “Our trespasser came in through a second floor window that had been left open, tripped the alarm, did _this_ and was gone in the four minutes it took our car to get here.”

Jim looked at “ _this_ ”. The Howe’s living room was grand, with the kind of never-lived-in style exceedingly rich people liked to go for. Every piece of furniture was designer-made. There was not a scratch nor a crease in sight. The decoration, composed of streamlined metallic sculptures and minimalistic vases, would have been spotless if not for the blood splatter. And the "this" was the message painted in blood, in big, capital letters, on one of the walls.

_“Everyone knows what a big, fat liar you are.”_

Whoever had painted that had come in with a bucketful of blood, and whirled to spray what remained of its content all over the room. The pin drum had been left on the coffee table, with a bloody arrow pointing to it. There was a trail of blood to the window, that the intruder had opened to get out of the house. Outside, though, all evidence had been washed away by the pouring rain.

“They knew when the house would be nearly empty, they had tools to scale the wall, they knew the inside layout”, the man from the alarm company said. “I mean, houses that large? You get lost. And they could have left that message in the bedroom they came in through, crossed half the place to get to the living room instead.”

“It’s the first place the Howes would have gone to, coming home from work”, Jim commented. “And they came back with company, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, a group of ten people, business prospects of Gregory Howe’s company, for dinner. The cook was even in the kitchen getting it ready when _this_ happened.”

Harvey grinned.

“Well, what’s the point of pulling a trick like this one if nobody can see it, right?”

“What I don’t get”, the young beat cop said, “why your guy only did that. I mean, you’re homicide, aren’t you? Your perp is a serial killer?”

“Our perp is a serial killer _vigilante_ ”, Jim corrected. “So far he has been going after people who were escaping punishment for _major_ crimes. Murder, child molestation, sequestration… Highly symbolic, ‘poetic justice’ murders. Here… I doubt he has something that bad on Gregory Howe.”

“So, this would be what, scare tactics?”

 _Harassment_ , Jim thought. Their killer would make the punishment fit the crime. What was the terms Montoya had used about what Howe had done, back then? _‘Full blown attempt at destroying Cadence Heller’s reputation and putting the whole family on the street’._ This was not going to be pretty.

 

###

 

In the early morning, Renee found herself sitting in a room with Jim Gordon, Carlos Alvarez, Sarah Essen, Harvey Bullock and Gregory Howe. Despite the fact that he was surrounded by no less than four detectives - from two separate departments - and a police captain, that asshole still managed to whine that he was not taken seriously.

“I assure you we are doing everything in our power to solve the case - which, as we already explained, involves several other victims - so we would really value your cooperation”, Essen said in a polite, agreeable tone. “As I was telling you, this string of murders is intimately linked to Cadence Heller's case, and it is likely you have a good shot at guessing the identity of the killer. So, we'll need to go over those last ten years, and any issues you might have encountered, related to harassment, stalking, or other break-ins.”

“I would not have been harassed”, he snapped. “After the police let my _son_ die - when I had told this sorry _bitch_ ” - He pointed at Renee - “ _over and over again,_ that we were getting threats. I made sure that could not happen to my wife. We spent _five years_ with an armed guard at every door.”

Renee remembered those “threats” full well, and the _two_ times he had come to her about them. The first time, she had told Jonathan Tucker that threatening to beat Andrew Howe to a pulp was not acceptable, and he had apologized. The second time, Pamela Olsen had been throwing stones at Howe's house. She had been drunk, in the middle of the night, right after Cadence's burial. Neither of those events had indicated those two would go on to kill Andrew. Tuck wanted to break a few of his bones and Pam to scream herself hoarse, that was it. If Johann Keller had given the slightest warning he would shoot the boy dead, she would have stopped him.

“We are entirely ready to place your wife and yourself into protective custody if you feel endangered”, Sarah promised. “Now, please, talk to us.”

“Yes, well, I don't think the police can be trusted. I'll get in touch if with the security firm. Now, tell me, why haven't you gone and arrested Cadence's Heller's friends, since it's apparently about her?”

“Because neither of them was anywhere near your house when the alarm was tripped”, Renee cut in. “We already checked. Hell, two of them were right under the eyes of cops.”

Pamela had been talking to Alvarez right at that time, Marcy had been helping out with a surgery, Simon had been in his kitchen, where the car in front of his home could see him, and while Jonathan had been the last one at work, he had punched out half an hour after the break-in, and he couldn't have covered the trip back from Howe's in thirty minutes.

“Then you better have another suspect”, the man replied. “What about Agnes Heller?”

“She has been cleared too”, Gordon announced. “We are, however, attempting to find the second girl your son raped.”

He had said that with a polite yet icy voice. He had been, so far, the quietest in the room. Bullock had been pacing, Essen pandering, Alvarez questioning, and Renee grinding her teeth. Jim, though? He had the cool, focused composure of someone who could listen to that bullshit for hours and would still be waiting, after everyone was out of energy and words, to move in for the kill.

Gregory Howe stood and turned to the exit.

“My son did not rape a _first_ girl, let alone a second. It was all rambling from a mentally unstable, rejected teenager, and I will not sit here and let you drag Andrew's name through the mud _again_.”

“Sit. Down”, Gordon said.

Howe stopped dead in his tracks, and the blonde stared at him until he sank down into his chair.

“You covered one rape”, Jim pointed out. “It's not a big stretch to think you covered two. So who was that second girl? Did he tell you?”

“I covered nothing. And no. When Cadence Heller came up with that crazy story, I asked him. What he told me was that he had too much to drink at a party, so had a girl he was flirting with, and they ended up having sex. And she was alright with it. He told me he had talked to her, and that she thought Cadence Heller was a raving lunatic.”

“And you believed him?”

“Of course I did. He was my son! What should I have done?”

“Parented him”, Jim said in a calm yet cutting tone.

“That's it, I'm done with your-”

Someone knocked on the door, and Alvarez opened it.

“We have finished cleaning the pin drum, if you need it”, one of the forensics men said, handing the detective a plastic bag containing the metal cylinder.

A minute later, they were all listening as Carlos cranked up the pink music box and the music started playing. Renee instantly recognized the tune, and old buried venom seeped through her as she recalled the lyrics. She had to swallow a mean smile. Bullock didn't bother trying. He just started laughing, in a nasty, cruel way.

“What the hell is that music?” Howe shouted, infuriated by the cop's reaction.

“It's a song by Blondie”, Harvey replied in a slow, darkly amused voice. “It's called 'one way or another'. It goes 'one way or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha'.”

Gregory paled and took a long deep breath.

“I want that man fired. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and make sure my wife is safe.”

 

###

 

Sarah had barely exited the interrogation room when she heard of the fourth arson, in another of Maroni's warehouses. This was Gotham. _Everything_ had to go wrong at once.

She focused on the most pressing matters, like the management of her own department.

“Harvey. My office. Right now.”

He rolled his eyes, but followed her.

“This has to stop”, she said after she locked the door. “I know things have not been easy lately, but you cannot act like this. Not with your fellow cops, and _certainly_ not with _victims_ and _witnesses_.”

“Come on, this was funny. Jim was about to crack up and Montoya was lucky Howe could not see her face.”

“Yet they remained professional and kept it in! And this isn't just about Howe. You've been like this for months now. You're driving everyone crazy. So _please_ stop.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we done here?” he asked, a hand on the doorknob.

She sighed.

“Harvey. You know you can _talk_ to me if things are rough, don't you? I'm here. We're all here.”

He slammed the door open.

“ _Will you quit with the bloody coddling?_ For fuck's sake, if you want to mother someone, parent your own kids!” he snapped as he stormed out.

That blow was so low and hurt so bad that Sarah did not even react when Carlos, who had been working at the closest desk, suckerpunched Harvey, laying him out flat. After a few seconds, she _did_ take a few steps forward so she could assess the damage, but that was it. She didn't have a word to say.

“Sorry, cap', that was uncalled for”, Bullock apologized from the floor, wiping his bloody nose.

Sarah did not even grace that with an answer. She walked back into her office and closed the blinds. Carlos slipped in after her, uninvited, and started pacing. She took in his state of absolute, shaking fury, and figured it was better for him to have some privacy. Then _she took in his state of absolute, shaking fury._ Carlos. Carlos who was the most composed of all her men, the most professional. Here, he could barely keep himself in check.

That was not what betrayed him, though. That was still something one could expect from a friend. The way his eyes went wide with panic and guilt when he noticed she was staring, though, and the speed at which he collected himself were dead giveaways. _Sarah, you blind idiot._

She had noticed some attraction, of course. She had _felt_ some herself. She had not been averse to the idea of something else building around that, in time. She wouldn't have kept eating out and having drinks with him otherwise. She had not suspected that something else might already be present, however. Then again, it was much easier to notice someone was hiding something when you suspected there was something to hide. And he was _afraid_ , wondering if she had noticed. What she could see were blown pupils and paleness and anxious lip pinching, and an ever so slightly erratic breath.

“I should not have hit him. I'm sorry, captain. Won't happen again”, he promised.

“I know”, she replied, because she had to say something.

_I know. You know I know. I know you know I know._

He cleared his throat.

“Will you be alright?”

“Yes, don't worry. Just go back to work.”

He nodded and did just that. She closed her door, sat at her desk, buried her face in her hands and tried to think of nothing. After twenty minutes of that, Loeb called her in, so she went, and had an hour long conversation that ended with her being fired. Then she did the most selfish thing she had done in her life. She walked back to the precinct and called Carlos to her soon-to-be-ex-office.

“Bring me home”, she said.

 

###

 

Jim dragged Harvey out of the precinct as soon as he was back on his feet. He took him to the parking lot, waited for his nosebleed to recede, then he punched him in the face. Hard.

“ _Hey!_ I _apologized!_ ” the older man snapped after swaying for a moment.

“You are going to _drop it right now_ !” Jim shouted. “Of _all_ things, Sarah's kids? You had to bring up Sarah's kids? That was low even for you.”

Harvey tried to snort, and grimaced in pain. Blood started pouring out of his nose again. He pressed his soaked handkerchief to it. Jim started pacing, enraged. He still remembered Sarah's words, months before. ' _You have no idea how vicious he can get when he feels low'._ Well, he hadn't lacked opportunities to observe, over the last few months. And getting special treatment did not mean he had to let Harvey do as he pleased with everyone else.

He had seen how _destroyed_ Sarah had looked.

“I'm done tolerating this. I'm done letting you antagonize everyone around, I'm done letting you rage at everything, I'm _done._ ”

“Antagonize everyone around?”

“Yes!”

“Rage at everything?”

“ _Harvey..._ ”

“Not listening to a word you say or to reason in general?”

“For God's sa-”

“It's annoying, ain't it?” his partner pointed out, throwing Jim's past behaviour to his face.

The blonde tried to punch him again, but Harvey blocked the blow, pushing his fist down. They glared at each other for a while. Jim was shaking with rage, and felt sick in the stomach. He knew how to break through that wall of malice his friend had built around himself. _Flirting_ worked wonders. A smile, a few touches, and the rage dissolved. Up until now, he had avoided doing that because Harvey wanted distance. Now, he was disgusted at the idea of trying.

He took a step back.

“Get out of here, don't show your face today, and you better not come back before you fix that mood of yours.”

 

###

 

Butch's showering ritual was simple enough. He turned off the lights, undressed without touching his own flesh, then slipped under the water and clumsily dabbed at his skin with a sponge. He tried his best not to touch his skin, or what was left of it. The feeling of the bumps and creases gave him nausea. Truth to be said, even if he accidentally touched himself, the disgust was more induced by the knowledge of what his scars were like than by what his fingers were telling him. He did not feel much, except pins and needles. When he was done with the shower, he slipped into fresh clothes, still in the dark. He had now mastered the whole process.

He had just exited the bathroom when he noticed movement outside. He went down to the basement, and listened to the footsteps around the house through the microphones Fish had planted months before. He prepared his guns, waited for the door to be opened, and played very-silent-cat and very-noisy-mouse with the intruder when he picked the lock and entered the house.

He pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of the visitor's neck, right under the dirty, worn-out hat.

“Fancy seeing you here, Bullock.”

“Hey! Butch!” the man replied with a grin, turning without a care in the world. “I knew you'd be here.”

Even if he hadn't been that loud, you could have tracked him by the smell alone. You could pinpoint several different alcohols in the cloud that surrounded him. Butch lowered his weapon. He was not going to have to use it. Worst case scenario, he could slightly poke Harvey and watch him collapse.

“What do you want?”

“Hey, just to check on you. The arsons thing? That's just _grand_! Are you going to go after Falcone too?”

“I don't see what you mean”, Butch lied.

“Now come on. _Full of fire_?” Harvey replied, quoting Maria's favorite song. “I knew it was you the moment the firemen mentioned a fat, smiling dude. I know you take your theatrics seriously. Got to say, I like your style.”

Gilzean snorted and walked him to the basement.

“Yeah, I plan to hit Falcone. I hear you arrested him?”

“Jim arrested him. I tried to shoot him dead.”

“Didn't go through with it?”

Bullock shrugged, all signs of drunkenness fading.

“I still have shit to lose, as it turns out. He made me doubt just long enough for Gordon to come in and save his ass. How's your operation going?”

“It's going well, as you can see. Incredibly fun, too. Have you heard of the rocket launcher?”

“I did. I said I liked your style, didn't I?”

The criminal snorted.

“You did. What do you want, Harvey? I assume you're not here to offer me help?”

The cop was too much of a coward to drop everything for this, and he cared too much about some of his friends.

“Nah, just heartfelt encouragement. Fuck, I _wish_ I was still eight years ago when I _really_ had no one who cared about me. I'd have signed in, no questions asked.”

Butch didn't comment. He knew about having no one left. He changed subject instead.

“Hey, I owe you about that message you sent me, through that Viv' girl.”

Harvey shrugged.

“So if you need a favor, name it”, Butch said.

“Gordon and his family are not to be harmed”, Bullock immediately replied.

“You don't make it easy, do you?”

“No, but I'll stand by that. They're not to be harmed, I don't care if Jim ends up with a gun to your face. I'm godfather to his _kid_.”

Butch thought of Gordon saving Penguin's life, during that raid on the club, when he was supposed to usher the boy through the back door where men were waiting to collect him and bring him to Fish. The cop was the only reason for that failure.

Bullock was dead set on his idea, though. Maybe the simplest thing was to shoot him right there and now to clear the way to Gordon. Bullock moved his hand, next to his thigh, and Gilzean saw the barrel of a small gun slowly go up to point to him. When he had gotten that gun out was a mystery.

_I guess we crazy bastards think alike._

“Fine with me”, he said.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might want to watch Theory of a Deadman's "Lowlife" video, if you have not yet, because Donal Logue is in it. <3


	17. Hard to say I'm sorry

  Sarah could not remember the last time she had been home at two in the afternoon. There she was, though, with Carlos laying shirtless on her sofa, and herself stripped to her bra, skirt pushed up, straddling his lap. It was a terrible moment to come to the conclusion she had just arrived to.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I can't do this. _I'm sorry_.”

He nodded at that, and did not comment, so she moved back a little, panicked, and started gesturing.

“I mean it, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, it's just too _early,_ I'm not...”

“Sarah, I know”, he said quietly, with a subtle smile.

“... Ready, sorry, _what?_ ”

“You're not ready. I know. I've known you ten years”, he pointed out, sitting up to kiss her on the cheek. “I _know you_.”

She shuddered, both at the certitude in his voice and at the warmth he radiated, with their skins so close together. She pulled away at the same time as he did, trying to ignore his state of arousal and the pang of lust it caused in her. It just made her feel more guilty. She stood, pulling her skirt down, and picked her shirt up. Carlos found his own clothes and got dressed, not showing the slightest sign of frustration. He stretched and smiled, then walked to the kitchen.

“I'll make coffee”, he announced, opening her cupboard to take her coffee box and her coffee filters out, then readying her coffee machine. “Also, I'm famished. Do you want a sandwich?”

That was what Carlos _did_. He took decisions, planned a course of action, and did not leave room for protest. She stood by the door and watched him take the bread , get strawberry jam out of the fridge (the only thing that was not way past its expiration date), and prepare food.

She wanted to press herself against his back and hold on for dear life.

“Yes. Thank you”, she said instead.

He cocked his head, neither turning to her nor replying. He just put the sandwiches on plates, and handed her one. Then he cleaned the counter. _This, Sarah, is the kind of man you should fall in love with._ The constant cheating on his wife was a minor thing, really. He made sure the small details were always in order.

“I have been demoted”, she announced after they both sat down.

That got him to jump in surprise.

“ _What?_ ”

“I just got the news. I'm to assume my duties until a replacement can be named, but that's it, I'm done. There's a detective opening in MCU, which I've been advised to take, otherwise there's a few other opportunities as an officer. I have to leave Homicide in order not to compromise my successor's authority, too.”

_“That son of a bitch.”_

“It is _really_ about my not doing a good job, Carlos. I'm not on his shit list. He's concerned about the music box killer and the fact that we didn't catch him during that four months pause.”

“Don't let him make you believe _that_.”

She closed her eyes. He grabbed her hand, nervously caressing her palm and fingers with his thumbs. He was shaking with rage. She looked at him again when he reached her wrist and kept caressing her there. She knew full well what he wanted to do to comfort her. He was past words. She wished, _really_ wished that the part of her that still felt she had to be Michael's until death did them part would shrivel up and fall to dust. She would likely still feel guilty about using Carlos, but he was a grown man who could make his own decisions, wasn't he?

That being said, at this point, she still very much felt like Michael's.

“We should go back to the precinct”, she murmured.

 

###

 

Renee hadn't seen a bow in a very long time, and she remembered them as a piece of wood with a string tied at both ends. So, when she arrived at Simon's archery club and the club owner allowed her to observe a training session, she was surprised. Lamb's bow was an abomination of black and orange metal, with what looked like three strings, and intricate parts that looked like feats of engineering. He was good with it, too. Every arrow he shot ended up in the yellow circle in the middle of his targets.

Next to her, Gordon observed the archer, analysing his moves. She knew what he saw: patience, accuracy, and years of long, difficult training.

“I still can't tell if he's our killer”, he commented, “but his personality and skills really fit the bill.”

“You're having doubts, now?”

“Of course I do. I'll stop doubting when I get actual evidence. And he was under surveillance during the break-in at Howe's. That counts.”

Renee nodded. She was not sure either. Simon's behaviour didn't help his case. He seemed set upon drawing suspicion to him, yet got into fits of rage when he was treated as a suspect. She really tried to discard his malice, and to only rely on proof... And they did not have it, Jim was right.

The cops watched him disappear into the locker room, and went to question the other club members. They didn't get much out of them.

“Simon? Yeah, quiet guy, has been coming here for years.”

“No, no one knows him that well. He's helpful and all, and a great teacher, but he doesn't talk about his private life.”

“Friends? Eh, we go out for a beer, every now and then?”

“Life? Nah, he'd come straight from his job, most evenings, and he had the keys so he could practice late into the night.”

Simon joined them as they thanked a sixth man for his time.

“So, who did I kill this time?” he asked.

“Nobody yet”, Jim quipped in good humour. “Then again, it's only mid-afternoon. You still have time.”

“You wouldn't be here if you didn't want my alibi for _something_ ”, Lamb pointed out.

“Someone broke into Gregory Howe's house”, Renee explained. “Which you probably already know.”

“Well, yes I do. The cop who watches my house came and knocked to ask me if I was still here. I asked a few questions. So, where are you on that rape victim?”

“Still nothing”, Jim replied.

Lamb frowned at that, looking concerned. He shook his head.

“I told you you would not find her.”

“So now you're worried about that?”

“Listen. When I was incarcerated, I thought 'well, that serial killer is bound to strike again, my life might not be that good when I get out, but at least, I'll be cleared'. Then there were no other murders, and I believed the killer was gone, had fled the country, something of the kind. I really didn't expect more executions on the _week_ I finally get to see the sun. I'm all for criminals getting their due, but prison is not a four stars hotel. I don't want to go back. If that girl is the most likely perpetrator, then _by all means_ I want her caught.”

Jim nodded.

“I assure you, we're looking. Now, do the words 'everyone knows what a big, fat liar you are' sound familiar?”

“Uh, yes and no. I heard variations of that thrown to Cadence's face every day, back then.”

“Alright, thanks for your help”, Gordon said. “See you soon.”

And he walked away with Renee.

“Who found Cadence's body?” he asked.

“A nurse, why?”

“I just wondered if it had been Lamb. Trying to figure out if something could have made him snap.”

“No, he was at Agnes' when that happened, he was the one who drove her to the hospital.”

Jim shook his head.

“Did he know anything about music, back then?”

“Not really. It always seemed to me that he only cared because it was Cadence's passion.”

“Do you think he'd be able to make a pin drum? One can learn, right?”

Renee looked at him. So, she was not the only one suspecting that the music box killer was _not_ using Cadence's work, just picking dark songs and making new cylinders that he signed with her 'C'.

“I don't know. If a young girl could, I don't think it can be _that_ complicated. I know there's some drilling and resin involved, but I couldn't give you the specifics.”

“Then let's see who sells blank parts.”

 

###

 

Oswald's back burned. His wounds were healing, well tended to as they were, but they still _hurt_. To make his day worse, he had to climb four stories to get to their victim of the day, and Victor had frowned at the idea of resting between floors. “This is how you get caught”, he had pointed out. So Oswald had hurried. His leg was screaming in agony.

Once inside their victim's apartment, he picked an apple from the kitchen, then went to the living room to sit down in the most comfortable sofa, and waited. After a mere few minutes, he heard the distinct sound of someone choking, and turned to see Zsasz drag their target into the room. The maniac tied the man up, gagged him, and started playing. Oswald ate his apple and made snide comments if there was too much splatter.

“You can move out of the way, creep”, Victor snapped.

The younger man clicked his tongue.

“Oswald”, Zsasz corrected.

“Better. Now be a good boy and be quiet with your toys.”

The monster complied, as much as he could. After a time, Oswald stood, shooed his hound away, and looked down to their captive.

“My friend. I have a few questions for you, and I believe I could be convinced to call an ambulance if you are forthcoming with your answers. Will you be forthcoming with your answers?”

The bleeding, terrified man nodded. Oswald took the gag away.

“Now, is there any secret about your employer that feels less precious than your continued good health?”

Victor's attention snapped to the door to the bedroom, which was closed. The room was empty. He had cleared it when they arrived. Still, the hitman took his gun, so Oswald pushed the gag into their prey's mouth and looked at the door.

It opened on a young woman in a dark grey hoodie, with long, messy black hair, aviator sunglasses, a knife sheath at the belt, and a gun in her hand. She slammed the door as quickly as she took in the scene, and Zsasz shot through it, then ran to open it again.

“Get her!” Oswald called after him, getting his knife and stabbing their captive in the gut. He collected Victor's tools, stuffed them into his bag, and walked out through the front door. No doubt the gunshots would attract visitors quickly. Thus, he didn't bother walking down the stairs. He picked the lock of the closest flat and left through the fire escape on the opposite side of the building. He could hear gunshots on the roofs.

Running - or even walking - away with his limp was impossible, so he dragged himself to the farthest house he could reach without being seen, picked the lock, and hid in it for hours.

He left in the middle of the night, and returned home. Then he jumped out of his bones as he turned on the light.

“I could not _catch her_ ”, Victor all but screamed.

He had been pacing in the dark in the middle of the living room. His shoulder was bleeding, though the injury could not be serious considering how energetically he moved his arm.

“She ran, RAN, _ran_ , jumped from roof to roof, and I'm FAST but she had _better shoes_ ”, he ranted. “I did not even hurt her. I want her, I want to know who she is, I want to _play_. You will _FIND_ HER.”

Oswald blanched at that. He had planned to track down the woman in any case, since she was an inconvenient witness, but Zsasz rage terrified him. He knew only too well how fragile the man's leash was.

“I intend to”, he said in a strangled voice.

“ _You WILL_. You can find _everything_ , don't you? That is what you DO!”

And he cut through the air in a brusque arm swipe at that, his hunter knife nearly touching Oswald's face. The young man did the only thing he could think of to quiet the beast: he fed him, taking off his vest and shirt to let him play.

 

###

 

Jim left the precinct at eight in the evening, which was early with a serial killer on the loose, but they were grasping at straws. The had spent the afternoon looking for clues, calling people, inventing theories, and they were no closer to coming up with a suspect than they were to solve the Zodiac Killer's mystery. And they had been five to try, too. Jim, Alvarez, Allen, Montoya and Sarah, packed into her office. She had dragged two dozens other men into it to check for witnesses, obtain security tapes, and find out anything they could about _everything_.

At around five PM, the news had announced a fire in the industrial district. A warehouse.

Three hours later, Sarah had sent them home.

“We need to come back to this with a fresh mind”, she had said. “We're running in circles. Everyone go grab some sleep.”

 _She_ had been needing the rest, clearly. She had been pale and withdrawn the whole afternoon. Alvarez kept casting her worried glances.

Jim had not been opposed to seeing his son, so he had not protested.

He walked to the parking lot, got into his car, and turned his headlights on. Then he noticed the six pack of beers and the bottle of Jack on the hood.

 _Harvey_. He would have put that there, as an apology of sorts, after their earlier clash.

Jim picked the drinks up, threw them on the passenger seat, fully decided to ignore the gift, and drove to Barbara's. He spent the evening dotting on James, even after the baby had fallen asleep in his arms. Then he put him to bed, and talked with Barbara, mostly about the boy, but also about Selina and Ivy's new accommodations.

He left at ten, for his own flat. He ended up at Harvey's instead, the bottle of whiskey in one hand, and the beers in the other. The door opened before he even knocked.

“Hey there, partner!” Harvey said with a grin.

Jim pushed in, still angry, still tense, and dropped the cans on the coffee table. The bottle, he placed next to the beers, more carefully. He heard the door lock. When he turned, his partner's smile had faded. _As it should have_. The man stayed in place, uneasy, then went to the sofa and turned the TV on.

“I'm sure we can find something unshitty on discovery channel.”

The blonde didn't answer, just stared at him. He could see Harvey's nerves unravel, anger seeping to the surface.

“Fine, I'll _try_ to be nicer! Alright?” he snapped after a while.

Jim kept his jaw clenched and his spine rigid. He knew it hurt Harvey more than words ever could. Harvey who had probably been keeping watch at the window, hoping he would understand the invitation implied in the drinks, and that he _would_ visit. Harvey who was pretty much dissolving under his eyes, rage flooding through him as he buried the disappointment. He threw the remote away, stood up and started pacing.

“Don't you fucking pull those games.”

The blonde remained silent, though he inched closer.

 _No special treatment_. At some point, Harvey was going to snap and attack, and maybe take the rage out on _Jim_ for once, Jim who was the one who could take it, who had offered to.

“WHAT THE BLAZING HELL DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?” the older man screamed.

He raked his hands through his hair, gestured aimlessly, then looked at his fists as if considering who to kill with them. Then Jim watched in horror as pain triumphed over rage, which had not been the plan.

“Just get out”, his friend said, deflating. “If you just wanted to guilt trip me, you can fuck right off. Go.”

Jim's stomach lurched. _Congratulations, asshole._

“Harv'...”

His partner shook his head and went back to the sofa, back turned. Jim grabbed his shoulder.

“Harv'”, he repeated, not knowing what to say to salvage the situation.

Minutes passed, then Harvey wrapped an arm around him, dragged him close, and kissed him hard.

 

###

 

“So what is it you thought you were going to achieve here, asshat?” Harvey asked twenty minutes later, in bed, arms wrapped around a still panting Jim.

He was not a cuddler, which meant there would be more fondling, provided Jim didn't fuck things up any further. The younger man moved back against him, his sweat covered back sliding against Harvey's chest. Lips pressed to his shoulder.

“I kind of wanted you to beat the hell out of me?” Jim said.

“I'm sure there's a logic to that. Like, how much time did you spend in Arkham again?”

“I thought it would help”, the blonde muttered. “Let the poison out, you know?”

“Yeah, _don't do that_.”

He nodded.

“Alright.”

Harvey's hand moved down, tracing the pattern of scars on Jim's chest and belly, then down again, caressing him until he started panting.

“Fuck you for making me do this”, the older man sighed. “You _knew_ I did not want to.”

Jim went cold at that.

“Wasn't part of the plan”, he quietly pointed out.

“You should just _stop_ with plans. You _suck_ at plans. Everything always blows up right in our faces.”

“Hey! Not _everything_.”

“Everything.”

Jim turned to face him.

“Only ninety percent of everything”, he corrected.

“Ninety-nine.”

“Ninety-one.”

“Ninety-nine.”

“Oh shut up”, the blonde snapped, kissing him.

Harvey kissed him back, pulling him closer, rolling onto his back. Jim followed, straddling him. They didn't argue much after that. Five minutes in, the younger man was well past being able to _talk_ anyway, what with his partner being on his knees between his legs and _there was no way in hell he'd let him walk away from that again_. _Harveyharveyharveyharvey._

“Gotta say I appreciate the enthusiasm”, his partner said afterwards, a large grin on his face. “Sure you've been blown before? 'Cause I know that wasn't that good.”

“Stopping this...” Jim gasped between pants. “Stupid. Won't stand for it. Stu-pid.”

That grin did _things_ to him.

Harvey laughed and climbed back into bed, wrapping an arm around him as he waited for him to recover.

“Give it ten minutes _then_ think about it again”, he said.

“I don't need ten minutes. _Fuck_.”

He reached down and soon Harv' was the one out of breath and out of his mind.

“Alright, new rules”, Harvey said much later. “We can _try_. If either of us gets sappy or hurt over this, he bloody _shuts up_ about it? Okay?”

Jim laughed deep in his throat, contented and warm all over.

“Sounds fine to me.”

 

###


	18. Murder mystery

Sarah paced in her office, in a precinct that was nearly empty. The ones who were there had _slept_ there, seeing how it was only half past four in the morning. She waited until the others arrived. The first to join her was Carlos, all crisp and fresh. The second was Renee Montoya, who looked like she had just fallen out of bed, with a messy ponytail and wrinkled clothes. Then again, it had taken her less than a quarter of an hour to get from her home to the precinct. The first thing she did was walk to the coffee machine, “until everyone is here”, to drain cup after cup. Jim and Harvey arrived ten minutes later. Despite the call Sarah had given them to call them in, they were _cheerful._ They bantered as they climbed the stairs.

“Ah, they're back together”, Carlos commented.

Sarah turned to him, stunned.

“Come on”, he said. “They're not _subtle_.”

“They aren't, are they?” she murmured, as the two detectives were getting into hearing range. “Now, we never discussed this.”

Montoya, who had seen Bullock and Gordon enter, joined them, and Sarah repeated the news she had partially given them on the phone.

“Two new bodies. I had the cylinders brought here first thing, so I can even tell you the songs. Our first victim is Stephen Rivera. He killed his wife four years ago while high on drugs, yet never saw the inside of a cell, due to extensive lawyering provided by Salvatore Maroni. The song is 'Cocaine blues' if I'm not mistaken, Johnny Cash, about a man shooting his woman death after taking coke. Our second victim is Robert Ward. He was a fugitive, killed his girlfriend, buried her in his backyard, and ran when his neighbours called the cops on him. The song was-”

“'Used to love her' by the Guns N' Roses?” Harvey piped in.

Sarah stared at him.

“How do you know that?”

“I had Vivian make me a mix tape of murder songs, I figured it might come in handy with those pin drums. Anyway, 'she's buried in my backyard' sounded like a perfect fit.”

“Bring us that mix tape”, his captain said, trying not to take his head off for not volunteering that information sooner.

He was actually participating, today. It was a _good thing_.

“Where are the crime scenes?” Jim asked. “We can split up to check them.”

“Here's where things get weird”, Sarah replied. “There's only one. From the looks of it, Rivera drove himself to Ward's place. He parked in his driveway, walked to the front door, and the splatter indicates he was shot in the back of the head as the door opened. They were both dragged inside, our killer called 911 on the house's phone, said nothing, and fled.”

Carlos frowned.

“driveway?”

“Yes. Ward was living in the suburbs under an assumed identity. Our killer left us a photocopy of an article about his girlfriend's murder.”

“No witnesses?”

“The gunshot were heard but by the time people got out of their homes, there was nothing to see.”

“So we go and see the scene, and follow up on the music box manufacturers?” Montoya asked. “And where was Simon Lamb when all of that happened?”

“He vanished on his way home from that archery club. No one knows.”

“I need a whiteboard”, Bullock cut in.

All eyes turned to him.

“There's a lot of additional shit happening right now, and I think we might have missed victims.”

They changed rooms, Harvey grabbed a marker, and started drawing. He started with three circles.

“What I see here is that we have not one serial killer active right now, but at least three”, he said, writing down 'MB' in one of the circles. “One of them is our perp. One of them is Butch Gilzean, who is responsible for half of the city bursting into flames.” - He wrote down 'BG'. - “The third one, no one knows.”

He drew a line, and four little sticks in blue at the left of it.

“So, five months ago, we get four bodies in five days, courtesy of our music box guy.”

He added a blue dot in the MB circle.

“And that's all we had, four bodies, then three weeks later, Lamb was arrested, then _nothing_. Except...”

He drew a thick black stick in the middle of his timeline. Then he paused for a second, lowered his face to adjust his glasses, and took a deep breath.

“Except two weeks after Lamb got himself in jail... Fish Mooney died. And Maroni's family started to have a _real high_ turnover rate.”

Montoya nodded at that.

“Our department found out that a good number of his men vanished or were murdered, we were thinking takeover attempts or revenge killings.”

“Yeah, well, I don't know what you mean by 'good number' but I doubt MCU knows the half of it. Maroni really insists on keeping the whole thing quiet, doesn't want people to think he can't protect his family. So what I _heard_ from a friend is... Twenty bodies on the first _week._ ” - He didn't bother with ticks, just drew a green zigzag. - “And after that, at least three a week. It did not stop. It's still going on.”

He drew a green, wavy line along the black one, and added a green question mark in the middle of the empty circle.

Renee was livid.

“The numbers can't be that high”, she said. “It's been nearly _four months_. That would add up to at least sixty kills.”

“Yeah, I'd say more than that. Maroni is going crazy about the whole thing.”

He picked up a red marker.

“Now, this week, we have _Gilzean_ who is going crazy setting things on fire.” - Another zigzag, then he took the blue marker and added five new ticks at the end of the timeline. - “And we have our perp again.”

“Are you sure it's not Gilzean too, the green murders?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah. Whoever does that? The guy is into torture porn. Real messed up stuff, apparently the first thing Sal did was accuse Victor Zsasz. It was _that_ bad. And Gilzean is absolutely confused about the whole thing, says it's not him, and it's not his style anyway.”

Sarah stared at him. So did the three other detectives.

“You're in contact with Butch Gilzean, when you know he's currently committing a series of arsons and murders all over town”, she said, just to make sure she had heard him right.

“Well, yeah? It's not my case, is it?”

“It's _mine_ , you jackass!” Montoya snapped. “Where _is_ the bastard?”

“How the hell should I know?” Harvey replied. “He paid me a visit to thank me for the whole arresting Falcone thing. He's not my _pal_ , he didn't invite me home! Now are you going to let me make my point? _Jesus!_ ”

“So make your fucking point already!”

Jim stood and went to the whiteboard, brushing against Harvey as he did so. His partner instantly turned to him. _Well played_ , Sarah thought.

“One one side we have a perp who kills off criminals”, Jim said. “On the other, we have a crime lord who is covering up the executions of criminals. There were dozens of murders, here. If any of them was killed by our perp and we didn't hear of it, then he never _stopped_ and it can't be Simon Lamb.”

Renee stared at the whiteboard.

“I'll pay a visit to Salvatore this afternoon”, she said in a blank voice.

 

###

 

“What I'd like to know”, Renee said, looking down at the victims, “is how they track down those bastards when we spend _years_ looking for them with no results.”

Jim asked himself the same question. Robert Ward had lived in his suburban house for months, with neighbours thinking he was a model citizen, with all the policemen around convinced the worst thing he had ever done was to mow his lawn on a Sunday morning. To everyone, he was a God fearing, law-abiding citizen. Short of having his prints checked for some random reason, he would never have been found.

“I have no idea”, he replied. “Listen, it's only six, I'll go grab breakfast and go back to the precinct. Meet you there at half past seven?”

“Yeah, that gives me time to collect Allen. See you later.”

Jim nodded and walked away, grabbing Harvey after he finished a discussion with one of the forensics boys.

“Come on, we're leaving”, he said. Then he waited to be alone in the car, and driving, to explode. “So Gilzean _came to see you_ , is that what you said?”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.”

“Where is he?”

“I don't know.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell us about those killings _earlier_?”

“Because I had no _idea_! I met with Butch yesterday, he's the one who told me. Then I planned to tell you about it but... The evening didn't go as planned. And I told you before five in the bloody morning.”

Jim closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. Getting information out of Harvey was like pulling teeth, sometimes. But here, he had given them what he considered useful, which was better than nothing.

“If you get yourself into situations like that, please, at least, keep me updated”, he said. “I'm your partner. At least tell me why you didn't sell him out, if you had a way to meet with him.”

“Because I owe the guy.”

“Do you, now?”

“Yeah.”

Jim did not ask what the debt was. Harvey's tone was clear enough: he did not want to discuss it. So the blonde drove in silence for a while.

“He gave himself up so Fish could escape”, his partner ended up muttering. “Faced Zsasz alone so she would have more time to run. After her failed takeover, I mean. She told me when I got her out of town.”

Jim parked the car, remembering the short conversation they had the day the woman went missing. _“Club's all shot up, blood everywhere, no sign of Fish”._ Had he lied at that point, or had he not known where she was yet? The man had a very personal sense of ethics. At the best of times, it made no sense to Jim. At the worst, it made him want to strangle him. But one of the most important points of it was that he did not sell his friends out (there were probably addenda and provisions to that rule, which Jim would discover at the most inconvenient point, as usual). Harv' would have taken Fish's secrets to the grave, and he would not go against Gilzean more than he deemed it fair. Getting angry at him was useless. It would just cleave a new gap between them, and probably send him into a rage.

Better concentrate on the fact that he had actually admitted _something_ . And talked about Fish Mooney without looking like he'd been gutted. That was _great_ . That was _amazing_.

“Anyway, it's just gangsters killing gangsters, why should I lose sleep over it?” Harvey argued, shrugging.

Jim leaned over and kissed him.

“I'm sure Montoya and Allen will nail him without your help.”

“'Course they will. Wait, where's my lecture?”

The blonde snorted.

“Damn, I should suck your cock more often”, his partner said. “Makes you bearable.”

Jim rolled his eyes.

“About that, we should discuss the current blowjob ratio, because you're going to have to catch up.”

“Really now?”

“Any objections?”

“Hell no, when do we start?”

 

###

 

Attempting to meet with Salvatore Maroni in the morning was difficult, because you had to track him down. He had left the hospital and his house had been destroyed, so Renee had decided that she would go after him in the afternoon, after his restaurant opened. He went there every day. You only had to wait for him.

In the meantime, she had gone home to change into clothes she had not slept in, and to check if her flat was still standing. Having Ivy around meant you discovered radical changes to your living environment, like your plastic plants vanishing along with your valuables, the meat in your fridge disappearing without a trace, and potted _living_ plants appearing everywhere like the results of some unstoppable mitosis.

She knew the girl lived there because, for a start, her possessions kept moving, and then because there was long, red hair on everything. Also, Barbara swore Ivy had answered the phone once or twice. Renee was ready to believe that. She had yet to cross paths with the kid, though.

_That education thing is going to work so well._

After getting ready, and eating, and waiting a little more, she called Allen, whose alarm clock had just started ringing if she had timed her call right. She updated him on the music box killer case, then _Gilzean_ 's, then that third, mysterious mass-murderer.

Then she went to Simon Lamb's house, to see if he had reappeared.

She found him dragging his possessions from the house to the front lawn. _“Garage sale_ ”, a sign said. “ _More inside._ ”

“Detective Montoya”, he snapped when he noticed her. “What _now_?”

She walked to him, zigzagging between boxes of books and small pieces of furniture. It wasn't just trash. He was getting rid of everything he owned.

“Where were you at one this morning?”

“I have no clue. Passed out in some girl's bed somewhere in the Narrows? I'm afraid I was hammered by that point. I went out for drinks.”

“So you were nowhere near Tricorner's suburbs?

He looked at her.

“Not _again_? Who died this time?”

“Are you moving?” she asked, ignoring his question.

She pointed at the boxes all around them.

“Of course I'm moving. How do you think I'm going to pay more than a thousand dollars of rent without a job? If I'm lucky, I'll get enough out of this to cover one month in some furnished room in the Bowery. Fingers crossed, because I really do not _want_ to sell my bows.”

“Can we talk inside?”

He stared at her, cold, tired blue eyes digging into her. He nodded.

They sat on his sofa and drank instant coffee that Renee nearly refused by reflex.

“Some girl somewhere in the Narrows?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“ _Find her_.”

“I can try”, he said.

“Did you do it?”

He took a long, exasperated breath.

“If it were the case, I would hardly tell you, would I?”

“Simon, I used to like you, and you were a good kid, so let me give you a tip. If you _are_ the killer, you stop now, before you fuck up and leave us something to nail you. If you are not, you _do not_ slip away from the cop tailing you. You want a reliable witness on your side.”

His eyes drifted to the fireplace, and to a pale square on the wall where you could tell a photograph had been hanging.

“Duly noted.”

 

###

 

Carlos' phone rang at nine sharp, and he nearly choked when he realized who was calling him. Twenty-five minutes later, he was standing in Gillian Loeb's office.

“Detective Alvarez, thank you for your punctuality”, the man greeted him as he shuffled documents around his desk, not even looking up. “I trust you are well?”

“Yes, Sir. W-”

“Sit down.”

He did.

“Let's get to the point”, Loeb said. “How would you feel about an opportunity for advancement?”

Carlos' stomach lurched, so he kept his face neutral and his posture relaxed. You could be burning and screaming inside, there was no point in showing it.

This was about Sarah's job.

“I was not aware opportunities were available”, he replied.

“I thought Sarah Essen would have given you the news. You're known to be close friends. She's to leave her duties as the captain of your department. I've been looking for a replacement.”

Carlos waited, inscrutable. He was wondering, sincerely wondering, why this man was alive. He was universally hated. He had blackmail material on _everyone_. It would take one person, just one person with a gun and a fit of temper, to take him out in a quick and efficient murder-suicide.

_That's because the people he has dirt on are the cowards who let themselves be dirtied. The others just 'died in the line of duty'._

And Carlos, like many others, was alive.

“And you thought of me.”

“I did. Your job performance is excellent, you are frankly among the best, among all departments. Your previous captain's opinion of you is - for lack of a better word - stellar. So is your partner's, your previous partner's, and everyone else's.”

“So you wish to take me from the terrain, where I admittedly do a great job, to coop me up in an office?”

“You are great on the terrain, but we need someone with exemplary organizational skills, experience with the handling of difficult cases, and an excellent relationship with the department's employees. Which you have, you are well respected. Those qualities are hard to come by.”

“With all due respect, sir, you just described Captain Essen.”

“I'm fond of Sarah. I am. But you're mistaken in your assessment of her abilities here. I've received quite a few complaints, over the last months, regarding her management of the department's assets, as well as pertaining to the leeway she gives to rogue elements. She is a good, caring woman, and that is the problem here. She is a _friend_ to most of you. She has failed, over and over again, to impose discipline. The antics of Edward Nygma come to mind. Bullock's continued violent behaviour. Jim Gordon. Sarah does not have the... Let's say detachment... Necessary to handle your people. This could not go on.”

“Who else did you consider for this opportunity, sir?”

“I have two other good men in mind. I'd prefer not to disclose their identities, just as I did not tell _them_ I had you in mind.”

_So you are the third choice. He met with you last._

“Can I have some time to consider the offer, commissioner? I do _enjoy_ being a detective, or I would have asked for more responsibilities years ago. This is quite a life-changing choice you give me here, and I'm afraid I was not prepared for it. I would need to discuss it with my wife, for a start. You know Mary had her qualms with the department.”

“Of course. What about we meet again in three days?”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you very much, sir. I _greatly_ appreciate the opportunity you are giving me here.”

 _You have three days to come up with a polite 'go fuck yourself', Carlos. Get to work_.

 

###

 

Sarah closed the door to her office and turned to the five detectives standing around her.

“I'm glad everyone is here. We have a few updates. First, every phone number even remotely related to Gregory Howe is currently getting called non-stop by strangers. Their home number has been listed as a 'massage specialist' in the classifieds, as well as left on printed business cards in a few sex clubs, from what we gathered from the callers. I have five men going over every printing shop in town to find where the cards were made. Howe's company's phone lines are flooded with the same kind of calls. Copies of his accounting files have been sent to _all_ of his customers, as well as to the IRS and some financial journalists around Gotham. I gather his accounting practices were _creative_.”

“He's not a murderer so our perp can't kill him”, Jim commented. “He's going to destroy him instead.”

The blonde was standing next to Harvey, so close that they kept brushing against each other, and there was no way anyone could miss that, the whole ' _I can barely keep my hands to myself_ ' thing. A blind monkey wouldn't have missed it. Montoya was all but gaping at them.

“It looks like it”, Sarah replied. “The second thing is that Jim and Harvey found the pin drum's manufacturer.”

“And they went bankrupt six years ago”, Bullock announced. “Sold everything for scraps, their machines, their inventory, everything. No one would take the crap, not even collectors. They figured they might as well try to get something for the metal.”

“They sold it all to a recycling company that has never existed”, Gordon continued. “They were paid through the bank account of a launderette owner who turned up dead the next week next to a suicide note explaining how he could not take the guilt of murdering his mother anymore. I'm going to go on a limb here and assume he had help with the suicide thing, especially considering how his time of death was estimated to be four hours after he went to his bank to pay the scrap metal bill.”

“Six years?” Montoya exclaimed. “How long had our guy been planning this?”

“And how many people did he kill before he started signing his murders?” Carlos added. “And, if he's willing to use his victim's assets, what did he 'confiscate' over the years? He could have endless resources.”

“We already knew he had resources”, Sarah commented. “None of the victims were killed by the same gun, he has extensive training with weapons, the data he pulled on Strickland and now Howe was months worth of research. Not to mention he's probably greasing a lot of palms to track down the fugitives he's killing off. This is not a surprise. All we learned here is where he  _possibly_ gets the money from.”

“I've asked Ed to give us a list of suicides with the same kind of confession attached”, Jim said. “I figure a few of our cases might have been solved that way. It's worth a look, maybe our killer was less careful with his first victims. And if there's anything suspicious in the last four months, we'll check it out too, it might clear Lamb.”

“I'll go to Maroni's right now”, Montoya piped in. “He should be at the restaurant, at this hour. I'll call as soon as I'm out of the place.”

Sarah nodded.

“Good luck, everyone.”

 

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm curious, dear readers. Any theories about the music box killer? :)


	19. Dance with the devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, two chapters today, I have no life. :D

 Sal watched Renee Montoya and Crispus Allen as they entered this restaurant like they owned the place. If there was one thing to be said about the horse-faced bitch, it was that she could put on a very convincing mask even when totally out of her depth. It was cute how she kept coming after him, had for years, yet none of her cases had ever stuck. It had to be disheartening, that. He would have to send her a few bags of coke as a birthday gift, for old times' sake. She probably wanted to be cheered up.

Salvatore couldn't stand to “greet” the detectives - gunshot wounds to the leg were annoying like that, even when you were lucky enough not to have your knee destroyed - so he smiled.

“Why, I'm real popular this week. Any progress with that case of yours, Renee?”

“Plenty, as it turns out! Now are we going to have this conversation in front of your 'customers'? I figure you haven't been cleared for stairs yet.”

Her shit-eating grin left no doubt on the amount of information she had collected, and she would not hesitate to talk loudly.

“If you insist”, he said, gesturing to the manager to empty the place from his men and the three actual customers.

A few minutes later, the cops took seats at his table, and Montoya started talking.

“You didn't tell me Gilzean was back in town”, she said. “And he has quite the hard on for you, too. How many of your places burned down in two days and a half? Seven, house included?”

“Now that name sounds familiar. Wasn't he that fat dude who dealt with the booze purchases at Fish Mooney's club?”

“Seven! And quite a lot of casualties, too. Now, that's just one thing. When I said plenty of news, what I meant was... As it turns out, I'm on not _one_ but _two_ , soon to be _three_ cases connected to you.”

“Sounds like the cops need to do some hiring. That doesn't sound right.”

“You don't want to hear about the cases?”

“Depends, are you going to try and arrest me again? You know that's getting old.”

“Not you. The guys who have been offing your guys. Still not interested?”

“I get the feeling you're gonna tell me anyway.”

“See, we're helping out Homicide about one of their cases, and we discovered along the way that you're kind of in a tight spot.”

“Yeah, you know how it is. The restaurant business, in this economy? But I'm not worried, it always picks up at this time of the year.”

“It's seems that you are stuck between Scylla and Charybdis. And the Lernaean Hydra”

Sal raised his eyebrows at that and laughed.

“Now that's a figure of speech.”

“You have Gilzean setting your properties - and people - on fire. You also have a mystery guy butchering several of your men a week. There was a kill like that yesterday, right? Homicide was called in, one of your guys stabbed to death and seven other people, possibly witnesses, shot dead around the building.”

Salvatore tried not to clench his teeth, and failed. _Not Gilzean and his team of crazies, then. Back to square one._

“I heard nothing about my guys being butchered, where did you get that?”

Montoya snorted and ignored him.

“Then we have the Music Box Killer, who got two of your good friends in two days. Rino Ciotti, whom you'll pretend to have never met, and Stephen Rivera.”

“Stephen is dead? Aw, what a shame. I meant to catch up with him. It's been years. I still don't see how that concerns me.”

Allen paced a small metallic cylinder on the table, and took over.

“It concerns you because there might be overlap between the unknown killer and our perp. See, a great many friends of yours 'left town' over the last few months. Now, we _really_ want to nail our killer. For that, we need to get our timeline right, and all of his victims, because so far, he didn't slip.”

“Just let me get this straight, you're talking about that guy who shot that pedo on live TV?”

“Yes. And it would _really_ help us catch him sooner if his victims didn't vanish without a trace. As a good businessman, you can see how having a serial killer in town is detrimental to commerce, right? I wouldn't feel safe dining out with lunatics roaming the streets.”

“So, if I were to discover a body, what should I be looking for to see if it's your perp?”

Allen taped the metal tube.

“Primarily, something like this. It's his signature. There would be a 'C' engraved on the pin drum. Then... There might be stabbing, but no knife play involved. This a quiet, efficient kind of guy. His murders are well prepared. He doesn't hang around for drinks after his kills. He's also an anything goes kind of killer. Guns, poison, knives, as long as it works...”

“Listen, I'll leave an ear out, if someone I know stumbles on something like that, I'll let Homicide know.”

“That's so nice of you, Salvatore”, Montoya piped in.

“Now, if you could get the hell out of here while people are still on their lunch break, it would be nice.”

They left without protest, and Salvatorer mulled the situation over for a while, as people flooded back into the restaurant.

“Cristiano. That Music Box Killer, it's Gordon's case, right?”

His man acquiesced.

“And they had a suspect, right?” Sal asked. “Couldn't make anything stick, but they had someone?”

Cristiano nodded again. Salvatore turned to him.

“Go have a little chat with that guy. Make sure he goes away.”

 

###

 

“Harv', we need to stop this”, Jim said.

And then he gasped, and gasped, and gasped again, because he had neither will nor resolve, and _God_ , Harvey was taking that “blowjob ratio” joke very seriously. Jim hid his face into his hands, and it helped with his mortification, though logic kept telling him that wouldn't be of much use if - no, _when_ \- they were caught. They both had _apartments_. How they had ended up in Harvey's car in the darkest corner of an underground parking lot was beyond Jim. Especially twice in a day. _Sex in public places was not okay._

And Harvey found his embarrassment and protests _hilarious_.

“I swear you're like a kid who just discovered porn”, Jim mumbled after he was done.

His partner laughed, a low rumble that, much like his grins, made Jim warm all over. _Who's like a kid, now?_

“We have a job to do, remembered?” he said.

“I'm on my lunch break, I'll ea-”

“Don't even try to make that joke.”

Harvey laughed again, then cleaned him up and adjusted his clothes.

“What about we get some actual food then do our usual round of harassing Cadence Heller's friends?” Jim offered.

“Burgers at Billy's?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

 

###

 

Sarah spent more and more time alone in her office with Carlos Alvarez. Scratch that, she spent more and more time alone with Carlos Alvarez, in and out of her office.

“You take it. You absolutely take it, you don't hesitate, you take it!” she told him as he paced.

“I don't _want_ to take it!”

“That's a lie! Not two months ago, you kept hinting at being promoted!”

“That was then!”

“When do you ever abandon plans? _Take the job!_ ”

“I don't want _your_ job!” he snapped.

She looked at him, then moved closer, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It is not _my_ job, Carlos. Whatever happens, I _will_ be removed. So _please_ take it, because you deserve it, because you've been hoping to go up in rank for years.”

She _knew_ he'd been passed over because of her, too, when she had made it to lieutenant. Brady had wanted her out of the field. _“You're brainy and I like that”_ , he had said. _“And you're a great detective, but you're a lightweight and you'll do better in an office”_. She had been _furious_ , absolutely livid about that, but Michael had loved the idea of her being away from killers and gunfire. So she had stabbed Carlos in the back and said yes.

He had to _know_ that. Did he?

“You know I took the job right from under you anyway”, she said softly.

“The lieutenant thing seven years ago?” - He clicked his tongue. - “Don't be silly. Our job performance was nearly equal, we arrived in Homicide at the same time, I was fine with you getting it.”

She looked at him, trying to convey a _“I meant I_ stole _it and you know it”_.

“I _did_ think Brady was an idiot to believe you couldn't compete on the field, though”, he added. “Clearly, he never saw you in action.”

Her relief at that was overwhelming. Sometimes, you didn't realize how much something ate away at you until it was gone. She cleared her throat, then noticed her hand was _still_ on Carlos' shoulder, and removed it, awkwardly.

“ _Please_ take it if you want to. There's no one I trust more than you to handle the division, and I don't even want to _know_ who Loeb would give the job to if your refuse it.”

His face was perfectly neutral when he replied.

“I think we should specify some terms, like who gets custody of Jim Gordon.”

“Come on, you're getting along with him just fine, lately.”

“He's been busy.”

“Carlos.”

“Alright. I'll take it. _Do_ tell the others you're happy with that before you leave, please, or I'm going to have a very bad time walking in your shoes. They _love_ you.”

“They love you too, Carlos.”

“No they don't. They appreciate my work and abilities, they think I'm reliable, they don't _love_ me. I can't quite compete with you on that point.”

Sarah bit her lip so she wouldn't respond “ _you're a perfectly lovable man”_ like he was setting her up to do, as unconcerned and business-like as he was. Instead, she frowned, and flushed a bit. The corner of his lips twitched as he suppressed a smile.

“I wasn't going to fall for that”, she pointed out.

The twitch turned to a grin. Her heart skipped a beat. Then he leaned down and kissed her, just a brush of the lips.

“Hep! Inappropriate!” she snapped with a smile as soon as she recovered the use of her brain.

“Not anymore, I think”, he commented.

She thought about that.

“I opened a whole new cans of worms when I brought you home, didn't I?”

 _And there's no taking it back_.

“Kind of. And several months ahead of schedule, too, I can't say I'm complaining.”

Sarah gaped at him.

“ _Schedu-_ ”

He kissed her on the cheek, and swiftly walked out, laughing softly as he moved.

 _Carlos_. He took decisions, planned a course of action, and did not leave room for protest. She didn't mind.

 

###

 

Out of Cadence's three friends, neither had an alibi for the murders of the night, because they had all been in bed sleeping. It made sense, considering the crimes had happened at one in the morning, and they all had full-time jobs. Jim and Harvey had agreed that it was maybe time to stop looking into them, before they got a repeat of Simon Lamb's termination.

They spent the afternoon investigating two new suicides with confessions Nygma had somehow dug up from years of archives. It was hard to say if there was any link with their killer, but they had obtained bank records and all the information that could prove useful all the same, and studied that for the whole afternoon.

They had left the precinct at half past eight, and spent twenty minutes making out in Harvey's car, like like children with their first crush. Five seconds alone and they had to _touch_ each other. Jim wondered how he had ended up that far gone without even noticing. Then again, he had never fallen for his male best friend before, he had never even thought it was in the realm of possibilities, how could he have recognized the signs? Well, if he had to be honest with himself, that day he had gotten drunk and kissed Harvey for the first time should have been a bloody blatant hint. _And you're a detective, Jim. Excellent career choice_.

He managed to extract himself from Harvey's arms because the man could not compete with his son. He had arrived at Barbara's a bit after nine, and found her and Selina arguing about the sudden appearance of a litter of kittens in the apartment.

“There's only three of them!” the girl was saying. “And they just need to be something like two months older before I can put them back on the streets.”

Jim had all but hidden himself into James' room. He was not getting involved in _that_. He watched the boy sleep for half an hour, until he stirred and started crying. Jim picked him up, smelled his thankfully clean backside, and went to prepare a bottle.

“Do you know a good veterinarian?” Barbara asked as she joined him.

Selina had vanished. The three kittens were still there.

“I take it you're keeping the cats?”

“All four of them.”

“Package deal?”

“Yes. And I only wanted one, damnit.”

“Language!”

“Like you don't swear.”

They looked at each other.

“We really have to get our shit together before James starts to memorize words”, Jim said. “The kid does not have a chance.”

“Did you notice what you just said?”

“ _What_? Oh fuck, I said sh.... We can still switch to sign language. It's not too late.”

“Well, I actually received an excellent education, I can keep my vocabulary in check. I'm just spending too much time with the girls. And you. And Harvey.”

Jim froze at that, and spent all the time it took to feed James wondering if twenty-two hours into a non-romantic-no-strings-attached relationship was too early to mention it to one's ex. Then again, he knew how he acted with Harvey. Barbara would see right through him the _second_ she would see them in the same room.

He waited for the child to be sleeping to talk to her.

“W-When James starts sleeping through the night... I mean... Uh. Will you mind if I spend less time here?”

She blinked.

“I mean”, Jim continued, “I wouldn't let you be the only one who has to wake up six times a night, but...”

“You're seeing someone”, she finished.

She tried to smile at that, but he could see the pang of pain. And she saw him see it, so she made her smile larger.

“I am. I... It's very recent”, he said.

“It's alright. It's good! And... Even now, you know, you _can_ not spend the nights here. Cat is here, and I don't need to spend a lot of time at the gallery. I can sleep any time James sleeps. I'll drug the kittens”, she added after a thoughtful pause.

He nodded. Then he hesitated so much that she asked him what else he wanted to tell her.

“It's someone we both know”, he murmured.

“Yes?” she prompted when he failed to elaborate.

“I don't think I'm supposed to talk about it, I haven't discussed it with...”

_You can say “him”. The world won't end._

“You're seeing _Harvey_ ”, Barb' said.

And she didn't sound in the least surprised. Jim's eyes snapped to hers.

“How did you even...”

“Jim. First, I saw how you look at him. _Then,_ Harvey told me he was interested in the first serious conversation I had with him. Now, I'm not a _detective_... But... How to put it...”

He nearly choked as he heard that. _Harvey WHAT?_ Then, he took in the first part of the sentence and groaned.

“I'm that blatant?”

She smiled. It was still a bit sad, but she was amused all the same.

“Pretty much.”

“Damn.”

“Language.”

“The baby isn't even in the same room!”

“It's better to stop swearing _entirely_ or you are bound to forget.”

“I-”

His phone rang, and he shook his head, then picked up. It was Sarah.

“I need you at Simon Lamb's house, _right now_. He's been killed.”

 

###

 

It was a disaster. Sarah raced to Jim's car as he arrived at Lamb's home. She passed next to a raging Renee Montoya, who had to be restrained by her partner not to bolt.

“I will _kill_ Maroni”, she was swearing. “It's about fucking time someone does it!”

Allen had grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, though, so Sarah didn't stop to try to calm her down. She opened Jim's car door even before the car was parked.

“How the _hell_ did that happen?” he asked, turning the contact off. “There was a fucking car right in front of his door!”

“Carlos is questioning the men who were on stakeout this afternoon.”

You could hear him screaming from twenty feet away. Jim joined him, and she followed.

“You were watching that door the _whole day_ , how did you not see the killer come in and out?” Alvarez was shouting.

“Well, we saw a guy with a suitcase ring the doorbell and go in, we thought he was selling tupperwares or some other crap. How were we supposed to guess he was a hitman?”

“How much time did he spend inside?”

“About one hour?”

“And what happened then?”

“We could see the TV was on, so we thought Lamb was just busy. Then it got dark and the bathroom light never seemed to turn on, so we went and knocked. No one replied, so we just went in, and _smelled_ the, uh, situation.”

Sarah shook her head and dragged Jim towards the house.

“What do we have?” he asked.

“Get a breathing mask”, she advised, getting one for herself from one of the police cars parked on the lawn. “It's not pretty.”

He put one on, and followed her inside. And, the second he walked in, she saw him understand. He found his way to the bathroom on his own. He took a long, hard look at the body dissolving in the bathtub, then at the empty bottles of lye on the floor, before walking out.

“Fuck.”

“Going to Maroni backfired horribly”, she said.

“We were not even sure he was guilty!” he snapped. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“I called in a team to try and recover what is left of the body, and sanitize the place. There isn't much to see, though. Not even a blood trail. I'm not sure what Leslie can get out of a corpse in _that_ state, really. It has been soaking in lye for hours now.”

Jim looked at her, about as ill as she was. And it wasn't the sight that made them sick.

“Let's get out”, she said. “And wait for forensics.”

He nodded, and they joined Carlos on the front lawn.

Sarah prayed for the Music Box Killer to never strike again. If he ever did, they had just caused the death of an innocent man.

 

### 


	20. Rippin Kittin

“Oh my god, pixie haircuts are _so_ cute”, Pamela Olsen exclaimed as she watched a short haired officer walk by her. “I should get one, I think. I've rocked the 'city of angels' perm since when was it that the movie came out?”

“The creepy so-called romance with Nicolas Cage and Meg Ryan?” Marcy Sanders replied.

“Hey, it was a great movie! And Meg Ryan looked  _so_ adorable.”

Sarah listened to their discussion and tried to collect herself, despite the state of her nerves and her sleepless night. She was going to have to tell them the news at some point.

“Aren't you at least a bit concerned about the reason we've been called?” Sanders snapped.

“I suppose their serial killer hit again and we have to tell where we were yesterday,  _again_ . When does Simon plan to arrive, by the way? They've been keeping us waiting for a while...”

Sarah joined them. There was no point delaying.

“Thank you so much for coming”, she said. “If you would please accompany me...”

Olsen's face fell as she took in her expression. Tucker's hand flew to her shoulder. Sanders bit her lip.

“Simon is not coming, is he?” the brunette asked.

“I'm afraid he is not”, Sarah answered. “Please follow me.”

Pamela grabbed Jonathan's arm. Her lips were moving but no sound was coming out of her mouth. He pushed her forward, softly. Sarah led them to the room where Jim, Harvey and Carlos were waiting. The last time she had seen Renee Montoya, she had been curled in a ball in the locker room, and had flat out refused to join them.

Ten minutes later, Pamela was a sobbing mess. Marcy had pulled away from the table, cold and silent. Jonathan was screaming his lungs out.

“HOW DOES THAT EVEN  _HAPPEN_ ? You were watching him! There was a police car parked in front of his house! He was tailed every time he stepped outside!”

“The officers on duty did not think the visitor was suspicious. He entered through the front door, without having to pick it. There was no struggle, no noise to alert th-”

“How much were they paid?” Sanders cut in.

“I'm sorry?”

“This is Gotham. You just told us this was most likely a hit by the Mafia, because your serial killer attacked mobsters. So  _how much were they paid_ ?” the young woman snapped.

“Nothing. They are genuinely thick as pig-shit. I checked”, Harvey replied, not explaining how he  _had_ made sure, but massaging his bruised knuckles.

She studied him, then shook her head.

Jim leaned forward.

“I assure you we  _will_ find the murderer and bring him to justice”, he promised.

“Yes, you do such a great job with the catching killers thing. How many bodies has your music box killer dropped so far? Eight? Nine?”

“Marcy, stop”, Jonathan sighed. He turned to Sarah. “Why are we here?”

“Considering the circumstances, we would like to place you all under protective custody. As this hitman went after a person of interest, not a-”

Sanders raised her hand.

“No, thanks.”

“I assure you it would be the safest choice here.”

“You know what would be the safest choice here? For you cops to  _forget about us_ . You drew a gigantic, blazing target around Simon, here. They went after him because  _you_ did. So I'm not signing up for that. Thanks but no, thanks.”

She stood and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Pamela sniffed.

“I... I think she's right, you k-know? I-I don't know if w-we can trust you g-guys.”

And she stumbled away from her chair and walked to the door. She stopped there, waiting for Tucker, but he shook his head and let her leave alone. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, people. I greatly appreciate the intent here but... I'm not saying I'm saying no, but would you mind if I discussed this with Detective Montoya first? I mean, I know where I'm standing with her.”

 

###

 

Renee nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Jonathan Tucker's “Hey”. She had thought she could hide in the women's locker room for a few more hours, at least until she was sure she could go home without stopping to buy drugs. She hadn't felt like she  _needed_ that in a long while. Now, she did.

“ _Jonathan?_ ”

He sat on the floor next to her, a sad smile on his lips.

“How are you holding up?”

“I got Simon killed”, she said in a voice she knew was broken.

“Ah.”

He leaned back against the lockers and looked at the ceiling. She tried to collect herself. It would have been easier if the man had been  _angry_ . But he just seemed to wait for her to do something, to say something...

“I thought we could find more victims, w-while he was in jail, that it could  _clear_ him. I didn't fucking  _think_ about what Maroni would do.”

“From what I hear,  _you_ didn't get Simon killed. It was Maroni's call.”

“Because I told him our perp might have been taking down his men.”

“It was on him. Don't let this break you.”

She shook her head.

“Men like him always end up getting what's coming to them”, Tucker said. “It may take a while, it might not be easy, Gotham may have this... Mentality of... Inertia? That things are one way and will never change, but... Every now and then, I see your name on the news, you know? And I'm all, 'hey, it's agent Renee, and she arrested some lowlife again'. And I'm like 'she's one of the good ones'. So you pick yourself up, okay? You keep going, keep trailing to nail the mobsters and their bosses like you've been doing for years?”

“Tuck, a man  _died_ because I-”

“You know, it's been a while since I've been close to him and he turned into a bit of a douchebag, but... The Simon I knew didn't give a shit about himself. He shielded Caddy and Pam, always, took the punishment for them, didn't fucking care about what happened to  _him_ . He liked to punch  _back_ , though. So, really, if you worry about Simon, you do that. You bring his killer to justice. And if you can't, well, you raise hell, right?”

She looked at him and tried to find some  _fire_ , somewhere. Under the soul-crushing pain, there was rage, wasn't there? She had to hold on to that.

 

###

 

Sarah watched Marcy and Pamela argue next to their cars, from her office window. Then Carlos walked in.

“We have a new body”, he said. “Deborah Eliott. Drowned her teenage daughter, has been on the run ever since. A sniper took her out fifteen minutes ago. The first responders found a pin drum in her handbag.”

That was the first body of the day. The second kill was an hour and a half later. Another sniping, Jaime Denis, who was  _also_ on the run, having killed two women after mugging them. Another pin drum. 

By two in the afternoon, they had three bodies, as Alma Palmer, who used to sell drugs to teenagers and had vanished after a thirteen years old had ODed, had been shot dead on the driveway of the house she was renting under a fake name.

At that point, Gillian Loeb arrived and sent Sarah home, and put Carlos in charge of the precinct.

She drove from one side of Pioneer's bridge to the other for a whole hour, wondering how hard she would have to hit the traffic barriers to break through them. Then she  _did_ go home and drank herself into a stupor. She cleaned  _everything_ , walked down to the ATM, withdrew the six hundred dollars her bank accounts contained, and went back to her flat. She put the money in an envelope on the spotless kitchen table. She called Michael, who did not pick up because he was at work. She did not leave a message.

She drank some more, watched the news, heard about the fourth body, and the outrage about Simon Lamb's death. She saw Pamela Olsen being ushered into the precinct by Jonathan Tucker and Jim. She went for a bath. Waxed. Plucked her eyebrows. Cleaned again. Took the trash out. Came back to her immaculate living room, crumpled to the floor, and wept hysterically for hours on end.

Then she unloaded her gun and threw the ammo out the window with the keys to her locked door, and crawled into bed with her bottle of wine. She didn't own sleeping pills. She had never dared to buy them.  _Good call_ .

She woke up around midnight when someone shook her. Carlos checked her pulse, not even looking at her when she stirred, as he browsed around the bed for something  _else_ than the wine.

Then he breathed out, stole the bottle, and gulped what was left of it down as he left the room.

 

###

 

Placebos, Oswald thought, were not as useful as science would have one believe. The basement was covered -  _covered_ \- in bits and parts of black haired young women, and Victor was not  _better_ . There was an arm here, another there, eyes and patches of skin, open bodies, twisted bodies, and the floor was  _sticky_ , coated in brown goo. The smell was intolerable.

And what did Victor want?

_More_ .

“Let's burn the place down and leave now”, Oswald said in a voice that sounded like an echo from another world. “We need to find you a new place.”

“Have you  _found_ her, creep?”

“N-no.”

“I don't see you TRYING. Could you  _please_ at least TRY?”

“Half the GCPD is l-looking for her. She's been hunting. We'll h-have news s-soon.”

Victor paced, feet assured despite the slimy mess on the floor. He was bleeding from a dozen fresh cuts. Four of those were two hours old.

“Good HUNters don't get  _caught_ , creeeeeep. And not by the  _police_ ”, he added in a mocking tone. “Strip. I want to  _play_ .”

Oswald recoiled.

“I-I d-do not think this place is v-very hygienic. W-we should wait to be b-back to my place.”

“Aren't we  _friends_ ? Shouldn't you do as I  _say? Should I say PLEASE?_ ”

“Victor, I-I m-merely...”

Zsasz' blade cut through his shirt and skin.

 

###

 

On the fourth day after Simon Lamb's death, Jim woke from four hours of restless sleep in Harvey's arms, grabbed his phone, and called Alvarez.

“Any new bodies since we left, cap'?” he asked.

Harvey pressed himself closer so he could listen to Carlos' answer.

“No, seems like our perp stopped at three yesterday. It's been eight hours since the last murder, though, don't wait too long before coming in.”

“I'll be there in thirty minutes.”

Alvarez hung up on him. Jim sighed, unsurprised. The man was too busy to spare anyone a second more than necessary. Except for the two hours he had vanished on the first evening of their killer's spree, the new captain had not stopped working since he had replaced Sarah. He'd been organizing the whole precinct and handling the press while still finding time to visit each crime scene. Jim  _hoped_ he had found a few moments to sleep.

“'Time 'zit?” his partner asked.

“Six.”

The absence of swearing at that was a good indicator of how bad the situation was. Harvey just had him roll onto his back so he could kiss him, then went straight to the shower. Jim joined him. 

Twenty-four minutes later, they walked into the bullpen. 

Carlos was leaning over the highest balcony, observing the room. Jim stopped to look at  _him_ . The difference with Sarah was striking. It wasn't that he was performing better, or that he was working harder, or that he made choices that she wouldn't have made. For all intents and purpose, they had the same thought process, the same expectations, the same methods. Carlos did morning rounds like she did. Carlos asked the same questions she would have. But Sarah had always felt  _human_ . Alvarez was stone. Alvarez was ice. Alvarez had made Gillian Loeb fall silent in the middle of a scathing remark, with one glare. Clearly, the commissioner had not known what to expect when he had picked him for the job.

At some point, Loeb had given up on trying to order him around, and had returned to crucifying Sarah in front of the press. The investigation stalling? Entirely due to her incompetence. An innocent dying? She had failed to take the necessary steps to protect the people her reckless officers had dragged into the investigation. Jim would have killed him. He had been too busy holding Harvey back to give it a shot.

“He's going to collapse if he keeps that up”, Harvey commented, walking straight to the coffee machine.

“As long as our killer keeps it up, we all have to follow”, Jim replied, following him.

Alvarez joined them.

“What are your plans for the day?”

Jim took a deep breath. He didn't like his own plans.

“I'm going to go to an information broker to try and see how our killer could be tracking down fugitives this easily. There has to be something that connected them all. Someone who could have sold them.”

“Cobblepot?” Harvey and Alvarez said at the same time, in vastly different tones.

“Cobblepot. If someone  _can_ figure out how our perp does it  _and_ be willing to tell me, it's him.”

“Give him nothing”, Carlos said. 

“I'll try not to.”

 

###

 

When Jim Gordon walked into the club, Oswald felt like falling to his knees to beg to be saved. His overwhelming relief must have shown on his face, because the cop made a surprised face, and blinked as Oswald walked to him.

“Jim! Jim, my friend, w-welcome”, he greeted him. “P-please take a seat! What brings you?”

The detective looked at him, then grabbed his hand, and took a look at the bandaid in the middle of his palm. Oswald shivered down to his bones and nearly snatched his hand away, torn between this being  _Jim_ and raw terror. The fear would pass, he thought, once he was in control of Victor again. Once he could decide where the blade could and could not go.

“What. Have you done. Now?” Gordon said in a clipped but concerned tone.

“I'm a-afraid I have run into a l-little trouble. Nothing w-worrying. It's already s-solved, really.”

_Now give me the names of your suspects so I can have Victor slaughter them and CALM DOWN_ . 

The cop's eyes strayed to his shirt. Oswald hoped the bandages were sufficient to absorb the blood. His outfit barely included white cloth, at the collar. Why had Zsasz felt obligated to hurt him there?  _So he could watch the stains spread, you imbecile._

“Solved?” 

“Y-Yes, of course. Now,  _please_ sit”, he insisted, taking a chair himself so Gordon would show pity for his leg. “How can I help you?”

“I'm trying to solve a mystery. I'd like to pick your mind about it. Its about information gathering. I figured you'd know about  _that_ .”

“I  _have_ been known to take an interest in knowledge of many sorts, yes.”

“So if I tell you that we have a vigilante running amok, you would not be surprised.”

Oswald clicked his tongue.

“I specialize in  _secrets_ , not front-page news.”

“He's proving  _really_ apt at tracking down fugitives who have been hiding from the law for months, even years. Most of them had broken all ties to their previous lives, too, they lived as totally different persons. For years. Yet our killer is leaving their previous names pinned on their bodies.”

_Thank you, thank you,_ thank you _, Jim, for serving me that_ bitch _on a silver platter. “Lived as different persons”, indeed._

Someone had either bribed a forger for his records, or found a more stealthy way to procure them.

“I will see if I can come up with an explanation for that baffling mystery”, Oswald replied. “Now, should I manage to understand how your vigilante proceeds, you'll have to help me with  _another_ mystery.”

Jim cringed.

“Oh, do not worry!” Oswald exclaimed. “There is nothing about that favor you should worry about. You'll only have to solve a murder. I've been trying to for a few months, but I've come up empty.”

 

###

 

Jim climbed back into Harvey's car and turned to him.

“So, if I were to tell you that, on the day of Fish's death, Oswald Cobblepot's mother was murdered, would you  _\- like I do -_ have a very clear idea of who killed her?”

His partner stared at him.

“Yeah, I think I would. That's not a rhetorical question, is it?”

“Nope.”

“And Cobblepot doesn't  _know_ ?”

“No. Sometimes, what's right under of our noses...”

“Are you going to  _tell_ him?”

“I think I'll wait until we're done catching the murderous maniacs we  _already_ _have_ before helping him on that path.”

 

###

 

Renee stood in front of Maroni's restaurant, on the other side of the street, eyes closed.

She had spent the last four days in a daze, working without remembering a single thing that happened around her, talking without having any idea of what she had said ten seconds down the line. Allen had sent her home twice. Those two times included, he had sent her home twice during the five years they had been partners.

The first day, she had felt broken. The second, a bit less broken. By the third, she was  _angry_ .

In the morning, she had packed Ivy's bags and driven her back to Barbara's. And apologized. And refrained from kissing Barbara as she left. As much as Renee had wanted to, if she had let the woman see she was running off to war... She would have called Jim. She would have tried to stop her. So Renee had not said her goodbyes.

She breathed in, once, twice, then opened her eyes, crossed the street, and walked into the restaurant.

“Salvatore! I hope you're not busy.”

“Detective Montoya. You again. What a surprise. Still looking for that killer of yours?”

“Yes, you might have heard, he's having tons of fun this week.”

“Is he now?” Maroni replied, taking a sip of his wine.

Renee took the only empty seat at his table, between his henchmen and friends who all turned to her as if she were crazy.  _Clairvoyants, all of them_ .

Salvatore cleared the place.

“What is it you want, Renee?”

“Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

“This is a restaurant, isn't it?”

He waved to the waitress, who stood behind Renee as she pretended to read the menu.

“I recommend the 'gnocchi al ragù'”, he said, ordering just that for her. He leaned forward when the waitress left. “What is it you want?”

“Well, it's lunchtime, I was hungry? Also, I wanted to know if you had any comments about how four new buildings burned down over the last two days.”

“I have no comments.”

Renee slipped her gun from her belt to between her tights, under the table. So, she wouldn't walk out of the place alive. Neither would he.

“It's strange how badly little things can backfire, right? You  _just_ deliver someone's lover to her worst enemy so she can be killed, and you get  _endless_ strife.”

He sipped his wine.

“And I... I just ask for a little help”, Renee continued, “and what do I get? A perfectly honest, innocent young man bathing in fucking  _drain cleaner_ .”

Salvatore refilled both their glasses.

“Did you, now?”

“They are microwaving frozen gnocchis, aren't they?” Renee asked, turning towards the kitchen. “You don't actually have a cook, do you?”

“We do, in fact, have a cook. And it's today's special, it's already prepared, just so you don't come up with wild accusations when it arrives in five minutes.”

“Ah. I see. In a hurry to get rid of me? You're a terrible host”, she said, leaning forward, grabbing her gun again.

“How poorly you think of me. I'm vexed. So, any plans of catching your guy soon, since he's... Having tons of fun?”

“Very soon”, she said.

_Just a different guy_ .

The waitress came back, placing a plate in front of Renee. She stumbled and dropped the fork to the floor, and crouched to pick it up.

“I'm so sorry”, she said in a low voice that was somehow familiar. “I'll fetch a clean one immediately.”

“It's alright”, Montoya said.

She didn't look down, focused on Salvatore as she was. Then the waitress' hand pressed down on her own, the one that held her gun, and guided the weapon towards her belt. It was  _not_ an attempt to grab the gun.

_Stay quiet and neutral if you don't want that girl killed and you with her_ , she thought.

Then she turned, took a glance at the redhead's profile, and recognized the face under the vivid red lipstick and deep black eye-liner.

_Oh God. God God God. Holy. Fucking. Hell._

 

_###_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it stupid to get a sociopath to devolve on purpose so you can get him to do your bidding? _Yes it is!_ :D


	21. The gift that keeps giving

 “Michael, please stop fussing”, Sarah said when her ex-husband asked her for the fifth time if she was sure she wanted to go to work. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

She had been hiding for four days. It was time to man up. She had been supposed to report to MCU two days before already. She had called in sick. Her new captain, Maggie Sawyer had ended up calling her personally to check on her. _“I get it, it’s a shitstorm, you take the time you need”_ , she had said. So Sarah had decided to swallow her poor, hurt little feelings.

“If you are _sure_ ”, he replied, dubitative.

He’d been worried sick since Carlos had called him, on the day she had left the precinct. As usual, Carlos had not given her a choice. He had not even talked to her after waking her, just called Michael, emptied the wine, and left the moment Michael had parked in front of the building. Sarah had tried to talk to him, too. But he had silenced her with a gesture of the hand and a shake of the head. She had recognized the far-away look and the jittery motions of someone who was screaming inside. She had not pushed.

As for Michael, he had spent his days protecting her both from the news - stories on the music box killers were running non stop on several channels - and the press parked outside. They had slept together, once, and it had felt wrong. He had felt it, too. He had not touched her again. It was fine. They were still friends.

“I am sure”, she insisted. “Thanks for being here those last few days. But I’m fine now. Go _home_.”

“Alright, alright. Take care.”

She nodded, raised her chin, and went to her car, ignoring the questions of the pack of journalists who jumped on her as soon as she opened the building’s door. Then she drove to MCU, raised her chin higher, and walked in. It took a few seconds, but silence fell.

“Detective Essen”, Allen greeted her when no one else did. “Welcome.”

“So you finally showed up, heh?” Romy Chandler piped in from her desk.

Sarah wasn’t fond of the woman. She had transferred to Homicide for a few days, ending up as Bullock’s unfortunate partner while Jim was working in Arkham, and her departure had been less than elegant. Now that she was back in Major Crimes, she did not have a partner, and Sarah knew only too well they were bound to be paired up.

Sarah put on her best press management smile.

“Yes. Good morning, glad to see you again.”

“Cap’ Sawyer will see you in… Whenever she’s done with Montoya”, Chandler replied, with a look towards her captain’s office. “Might take a while, I’ve seen Renee in better moods.”

Sarah nodded. She could hear laughs and mutters. _“How the mighty fall.”_

“Anything I can do in the meantime?”

_Don’t show weakness._

“Dunno, is there anything you won’t fuck up?” Romy asked.

Sarah took a look at the pile of messy, half-filled paperwork on the woman’s desk. She grinned, as cheerfully and amicably as she could.

“I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t sign my name in the timestamp box of a E-447 form, what about I take a look at those?”

Chandler didn't argue with that, just glared at her. Sarah took a chair and started correcting the mistakes and circling the blanks. Five minutes later, Montoya stormed out of Maggie Sawyer's office, joining Allen. The captain followed her out, stopping at the door, and watched her. Sarah noticed her tired expression, so she took a longer look at Renee and noticed immediately that her weapon was gone. Whatever she was murmuring to Allen, it wasn't good. A few moments later, she walked out of the precinct.

“Essen, Allen, my office!” Sawyer called.

They followed her in, Allen looking more than a bit stunned.

“As Montoya probably just told Allen”, Maggie announced, “she just asked to take her remaining days off, then unpaid leave, until _I don't know when_. So, congratulations, the two of you are now partners.”

“What the hell happened here?” Crispus snapped. “Just this morning she was all about closing our cases and catching the music box perp.”

“I have no idea”, their captain replied. “She _begged me_ to let the two of you join in on that investigation, said it was personal, that she had to do it. Now she won't touch it with a teen foot pole.”

“Something _must_ have happened.”

“I suggest you give her a few hours to calm down and pay her a visit. She sure as hell told me nothing, not even the beginning of an explanation. _Essen_.”

Sarah took a step forward at that. She knew Maggie. They got along well. She was a Metropolis transfer who still managed to make her mark in Gotham, as she had spent years honing her skills on Intergang. She was a good cop and a great woman.

“Yes?”

“You know this case in and out. Allen will brief you on the Butch Gilzean case. That's all you have to work on right now, I trust you to do a good job, so _welcome to MCU_.”

 

###

 

Salvatore had waited for a long, long while for Kelly to exit the ladies room, where she had hidden as soon as Montoya had left the restaurant. He had wine, he had friends, and there was only one exit, so he could wait forever.

When she finally emerged, her make up had been touched up. You could still see she'd been crying.

“Hey there”, he called, limping to her. “What about we take a... I'd say a walk, but it's not going to happen, so what about a long, relaxing drive?”

She nodded, and followed him out.

“So”, he asked once his driver pushed over the thirty miles per hour. “What about you tell me why that cop lady went ghost white when she watched you pick that fork up?”

Kelly herself had gone livid, and her lower lip was trembling.

“Because she saw I saw she had her gun out”, she replied. “I think.”

“And you didn't tell me?”

“Well, _your_ gun was out too, wasn't it? I didn't want to be caught in a shooting contest.”

“I see.”

The redhead took a shivering breath.

“I can't... I.. The restaurant is _scary_ ”, she murmured. “I'm so sorry. I know all of that is _normal_ to you and you w-were shot and you barely even care but...”

“But you're a normal girl and you're afraid.”

She nodded.

“To the hotel, Albert”, he told the driver, before turning to the girl again. “How about you don't work at the restaurant, then?”

“I thought that was your only _legitimate business_ ”, she muttered, still shivering. “I'm not sure I want to get involved with the others.”

Salvatore mentally slapped himself for acting like every horny idiot in history, ready to dole out the cash for some replaceable piece of ass.

“I didn't mean you'd need to work at all”, he said. “How long has it been, two years cleaning that monstrosity of a fifty-five rooms house one day a week? Hard work, well done, never heard a complaint from anyone but my wife, and that was because she thought pretty girls didn't belong in the house. Now, I get that you had a real scary experience with the fire and the lunatics shooting everyone dead. I should not have expected you to be able to come into the restaurant, what with the company involved, without your nerves taking a hit. It was brave of you to try anyway.”

She looked out the window, refusing to turn to him.

“Don't”, she murmured.

“I could set you up in a small house, of make sure your rent and expenses are paid, at least for a few months, until it all calms down...”

“I'm not a _whore_ ”, she answered, barely above a whisper.

He looked straight at her, didn't touch her, even if he badly wanted to.

“Then you don't have to fuck me. Just take the money. And if you ever thought it was required to keep your job, then I apologize.”

He fucking hoped she had not been thinking that. His ego would take quite a blow, otherwise.

She fought not to sob. Her shoulders jumped all the same, her breath caught. She held on, though, only letting one tear drop before she collected herself.

“I didn't think that”, she said. “And why do you have to be so _nice_? God, I don't want you to be nice to me. I wanted to end this, damn it.”

“As a good businessman, I'd suggest taking the money for as many months as the dumbass I am is willing to pay, _then_ to end this.”

That got her to chuckle. He put a hand on her knee, and she relaxed.

“I-I think I'll try to soldier through it”, she said. “The restaurant. But if I could, you know, not have to leave the kitchen, so I don't see all the weird men with guns talking about pulling teeth out, that would be... Extremely kind of you. I mean, until you get a new home and I can resume doing laundry and making beds.”

“Sounds good to me. I mean, it's certainly better for my wallet.”

She laughed, frankly laughed, which was much better.

When they finally got to his hotel room, he took her to bed, and she was her normal, teasing self by that point. Her cuddling, afterwards, did surprise him a little.

 

###

 

“D-Don Falcone, I-I-I'd a-a-a-a-a... Appreciate if w-we c-c-ould d-d-di-di-scuss this w-w-without w-w-itnesses.”

Carmine looked at Oswald Cobblepot's face. The boy's teeth were chattering and he had barely been able to get a word out straight since he had arrived. Now, he _was_ a whimpering little coward, but this was something else. He had been looking at a pen on Carmine's desk for the better part of ten minutes.

Behind Carmine, Zsasz was hovering. And _smiling_. The old man had noticed the smirk a few minutes before and acted as if he hadn't. Then, he had observed Cobblepot's tiny jumps and gasps when the hitman moved. He had counted the small bandaids on his hands and throat. Something really wrong was going on there.

“Victor, go fetch the club's books”, Carmine ordered. “Since our friend Oswald is here, I thought we might discuss the place's profits, or lack thereof.”

“But, Sir...” Zsasz protested, as Cobblepot turned paler still.

“Now.”

The young monster waited for a moment before obeying, and even then, it was not without clear ill will. Carmine waited to see his car leave the park to turn to Oswald. Before that, he locked all the doors.

“Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me what Victor did to you...”

The boy jumped in his seat.

“N-nothing, Sir.”

“Really now? Because I can't help but notice he makes you nervous.”

“Oh, no, no, sir. I w-was merely concerned that you m-might not want him to listen to my s-suspicions.”

That stutter was back to normal. Cobblepot's teeth were no longer chattering. His breathing was much calmer.

“Do you believe I'm an imbecile, boy?”

Oswald froze.

“N-no, sir? I wouldn't dare?” he said after a long pause.

“Then what about you tell me what is going on? I grow tired of asking my men to undress so I can inspect their wounds.”

“I. Uh. I. T-This is going to be a very embarrassing c-conversation, and, quite frankly, a very b-boring one, if I may say so.”

“What about you let me decide of what bores, or does not bore me?”

The young man cleared his throat.

“W-we. I. W-we, ah, had intercourse, Sir. Which, if I'm to be totally honest, is not an experience I would care to repeat. Ever.”

Carmine stared at him.

“With _Victor_?”

“I do b-believe it was a ploy to get to examine my l-leg, Sir. He had b-been asking to see the fracture for a w-while now. I. He - ah - seemed to give up on that, then made a... New k-kind of offer. Sir.”

“With _Victor_. Who _volunteered the idea_. Which you _agreed to.”_

“With all due respect, D-Don Falcone... How d-does one go about saying n-no to Victor Zsasz? About _anything_? And really, it p-proved to be all about my leg and a-asking me if I c-could feel the bone f-fragments moving. C-could w-we please drop the matter?”

“And how did you come by those cuts?”

“ _I DO NOT CARE TO DISCUSS THE TOPIC SO WILL YOU PLEASE KINDLY DROP IT!_ ”

Carmine studied the boy's face. He was shaking very badly. The “topic” would have to be discussed later, with the _other_ party.

“Very well. You told me you had suspicions to voice about a possible spy? I'm listening.”

Oswald composed himself. His eyes focused and went cold. His voice steadied.

“I have been paying close attention to the Music Box vigilante, ever since Jacob Strickland's horrific execution. The killer's recent spree has been revealing, and I believe I know how he finds his victims. I am of the opinion that he has access to the records of at least one forger. Now... I know the records of identity changes are carefully kept, for leverage... What I wonder is where the vigilante accessed them. He might have paid a forger off. He might have spied on one. Or - and that would be much more worrying - he has access to much more than that. I know for a fact you keep copies of such records in your home, provided by all of the forgers in your employ. I stumbled upon them months ago, while I was securing your sensitive documents after your arrest.”

Not a _single_ syllable out of place, Carmine noted.

“I do.”

“Then, Don Falcone, I beg of you to let me access those files, or at least to have them checked by someone you trust, so we can verify that the most recent victims were not provided new identities by _several_ of your forgers.”

“Which would indicate the leak is in my home, and not in my men's.”

“Indeed. Though it is very unlikely.”

“And if it turns out none of those names can be found in my files?”

Cobblepot chuckled nervously.

“Then, Sir, I'll have to assume that Salvatore Maroni should improve his hiring process.”

 

###

 

It was three in the afternoon and no one had died yet.

Jim had watched Alvarez relax from hour to hour, until his nerves stopped sustaining him and he finally passed out in the locker room. Harvey had taken that as an authorisation to go back to sleep, and had gone to nap in his car. Jim had joined him.

“Maybe the killer hit the end of his list again?” he said after five minutes of trying to fall asleep in the passenger seat.

His partner grunted from the back seat.

“Or maybe he's getting shy with all the police choppers being out today. Just drop it. _Rest_.”

Jim nodded and turned to look at him. He was crumpled on his seat, his frame three times too large for the space available.

“We can go to your place”, he pointed out. “Before you destroy your back.”

What he actually wanted was a bed so he could sleep next to the man, really.

“Please shut up, do you ever shut up?”

The blonde went silent, but kept watching him.

“Lets go to your flat”, he insisted a few minutes later, this time in a wholly different tone.

“You're not going to let me sleep, are you?”

“Yeah, _no_.”

“Who's the kid who just discovered porn, now?”

Jim chuckled.

“Give me your keys”, he said, moving to the driver's seat.

They ended up sleeping two hours in Harvey's bed. Eventually. And, as it turned out, Harv' _could_ be a cuddler. They woke up to a phone call. Jim picked up.

“I need you at Howe's house now, start moving.”

“Yes, captain”, the blonde replied. “What happened? Anyone killed?”

“No. More harassment from our killer. Get Bullock and just come, I can't talk now, it's _bad_. I need to deal with the press.”

“Alright.”

They raced to the house, and found the property roped off by the police. Several cops were keeping the press at bay. Vans had been parked across the driveway to obscure the view. Jim and Harvey walked to the door and found a forensics team examining a large crate.

You could hear a woman shouting inside the house, terrified, endless screams. Gregory Howe was pacing in the garden, looking at the box and raking his hands through his hair. Sarah was trying to calm him down. Allen and Carlos were standing next to the crate, grim.

Then Jim got close enough to see what was in the box. He blanched and joined Carlos.

“Is that...”

“The forensic team thinks so. And yes, his grave was dug up”, the captain said.

Harvey, just as Jim had done, looked down to the corpse in the crate, a dry, headless mass of bone and flesh in a rotten costume. Blood splatter had been painted on the wood of the crate where the head should have been. The body itself was glued to the planks. So was a dictaphone.

Carlos gestured to Sarah, who escorted Gregory inside the house. He put on a latex glove and pressed play on the voice recorder.

“I can't do this anymore”, the voice of Cadence Heller said. “ _I_ _can't do this anymore!_ I can't do this anymore. _I_ _can't do this anymore!_ I can't do this anymore. _I_ _can't do this anymore!_ I- _”_

Alvarez pressed the stop button.

“There's a card”, he said, picking it up and holding it so Jim and Harvey could read.

The words that had been printed on it were very familiar, at least for the last part.

_“I think we should continue finding your faults until everyone knows what a big, fat liar you are.”_

Jim stared.

“Bloody fucking hell.”

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd have made the chapter longer, but... Yeah, I had no idea what to write after that last scene.


	22. Speak softly love

Sarah had spent two hours, two entire hours, until ten in the evening, talking to Sofia and Anna on the phone.

She could still hear Thelma Howe's wailing. As a parent, there were things she couldn't wrap her head around. Digging up their _dead child_ , of all things. Gregory Howe had ended the day as a sobbing mess, and he was the cool, composed one. His wife had to be medicated to calm down, and even drugged, she had kept crying.

The delivery man had been ill too. He worked for a small time company that transported furniture and goods for a few Ebay sellers. “We picked that crate from a new customer”, he had explained. “Young lady with long black hair, kind of messy, overgrown bangs... Told us it was a sculpture, that we had to be extra careful not to shake the box. What kind of sick piece of shit does that?”

Sarah and Crispus had followed up on that lead, discovering that the woman's “home” was a foreclosed house that had been broken into. She had been seen, but from afar, and there wasn't much of a portrait to be drawn from “black hair, mirrored sunglasses, hipster scarf”.

Jim and Harvey had looked into the cemetery, and no one had even noticed that a grave had been disturbed before cops had showed up.

She collapsed into bed and curled into a ball, laying there sleepless for two hours, until someone knocked on her door. It was Carlos.

“Come in, come in, how are you holding up?”, she asked as she gestured to the sofa.

“Very well, and you?” he replied in a perfectly natural tone, as if the previous days had been normal.

He was a bit tense, he looked exhausted, but he kept his chin up and his shoulders straight. That man was always so set on being composed. She knew from Harvey and Jim he had not stopped working since he had been named captain. He had slept at the precinct, but that hardly counted, did it? He stood facing her, ignoring her repeated motions towards the sofa. She let her hand drop.

“I'm fine. Much better.”

“Good”, he said.

Then he looked around, silent. She waited, thinking that maybe he  _had_ something to say but found it difficult to voice it. It was so hard to read him, and he was never inclined to share his personal thoughts. 

“Michael is gone?” he asked after an eternity, as an afterthought.

His voice was casual. She had seen him swallow hard, though. Carlos who had called Michael to keep her safe. Carlos, who wanted her, who had called her husband of ten years all the same. When she was at her lowest, when the job that had destroyed their marriage had been taken out of the equation.

“I sent him home”, she said.

He nodded, obviously not getting her meaning there. He was looking at everything but her.

“I sent him  _home_ , Carlos”, she repeated, putting a hand on his shoulder.

She reconsidered and let it slip to his neck. He froze. Then she barely had a second to see him unravel before he crushed her to him and kissed her. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck when he came up for breath. “Scared me half to death”, he murmured against her skin. “When I saw the bullets on the lawn outside I-”. He bit his tongue and buried his next words. He said nothing else, nothing at all. But he didn't let go. She put her hand on his lower back and pressed.

Her feet left the ground and didn't touch it again, as he carried her to her bed.

Not ten minutes later, he was wrapped around her and sleeping like a stone. As she was very familiar with the whole passing out in the middle of sex thing - that was usually what you got when you worked four days straight - she didn't mind. She leaned back against him and put her hand over his.

 

###

 

Jim walked into Barbara's bedroom to find two teenage girls, two women, five cats and a baby laying on the bed. As every human over the age of one was wearing headphones, only the cats stirred. They weren't that concerned by his presence either. He flicked the lights on and off.

“Hi Jim!” Selina greeted him.

Barbara jumped. Ivy gave him the finger. Renee sat and waved.

“Am I allowed to collect my son or am I intruding on some strange ritual here?” he asked after every mp3 player had been put away.

He didn't comment on Montoya's presence, despite the fact that everyone had been looking for her for more than three days now. He had suspected he would find her there, seeing how she seemed to have entirely vanished. He let Barbara hand him James, went to feed him and read him a story, then kept him in his arms for an hour as he watched TV with Selina.

He followed Renee out when she left two hours later.

“We've been trying to contact you”, he said.

“I know. You've left quite a few messages.”

“So you  _have_ been checking them.”

She shrugged.

“Who found Cadence's body, Renee? Because the tape the killer left with Andrew's corpse? That sounds like part of a suicide note.”

“I told you that already. A nurse.”

“We talked to every single surviving member of Gotham General's team, from the year Cadence Heller was admitted. And yes, to that nurse too. She knew nothing about a recorded suicide note, however, and it's not in the file, so either Reyes left that out, either someone walked in before that nurse did and took the recording.”

“I don't  _know_ , Jim.”

“Don't you know  _something_ ? There has to be a reason you walked away at this point.”

“ _Yes there is_ . I found myself in Maroni's restaurant with a gun pointed at his chest. I was  _that_ close to shooting him dead.  _That_ is why I walked away. Now do you want to know why I came  _here?_ ”

He started shaking his head, but she ignored him.

“Because I knew it would be the  _one_ place in Gotham I couldn't find crack in. This is ten years ago all over again, that fucking case is rotten to the core and  _everyone_ connected is going to be destroyed,  _just as back then_ .”

“Not if we catch that killer”, Jim pointed out, uneasy. That was entirely too much information, especially on someone he didn't really care about.

“Well I'm not so sure I want to do that. He sure as hell seems to do a much better job taking criminals out than  _we_ do.”

The blonde gaped at her, speechless.

“And don't look at me like that”, she snapped. “He does. How far along are you on the Wayne case? And  _Flass_ ? I hear he was cleared of all accusations this afternoon.”

_He what?_

Jim put that question aside.

“ _Then you fix the_ police _!”_ he shouted back. “Handing the keys to the city to a vigilante is not the bloody solution.”

“Oh _grow up_. It won't be fixed as long as the likes of Loeb and Falcone are in charge. You can fight all you want, they are laughing at you. They are laughing at _us_. Well, I say we let them taste justice, for a change.”

“That is not _justice_ , Montoya! What our perp does, it's cold blooded murder. He's not some kind of hero!”

“There are no heroes in Gotham”, she replied. “But whatever our killer is, I'm not going to stand in his way.”

And, on that, she walked away from him.

 

###

Jim went straight to Harvey's flat after that, and dragged the man to his bed so he could calm his nerves. Harv' actually tried to stop him, but he was having none of that, and his partner never needed much convincing. The worried, guilty tone of his protests only hit Jim afterwards, when Harvey moved away to the other side of the bed instead of wrapping an arm around him as he had started to do. The blonde turned to him. Harvey was laying on his side, eyes lost into the distance as he looked at his clenching fist.

“I fucked up”, he said.

And he didn't explain, just turned away, his back to Jim, who looked at him with not the slightest idea of what to do. After a moment, he crossed the space between them and pressed himself against Harvey's back, placing a hand on his shoulder. His partner shook his head but did not move away.

 

###

 

Carlos called Jim to Sarah's office - _his_ office - as soon as he walked into the precinct, because one look at his face around Bullock was enough to be sure he did not know how Flass had been cleared yet.

“Sit down”, he ordered when the blonde entered the room.

He closed the blinds and the door and took his own seat.

“Arnold Flass was cleared of that murder charge thanks to the testimony of a fellow cop”, he announced, seeing rage flood through Gordon at that. “You will let it go.”

“ _Let it GO?”_

“Yes. This is a direct order. There will be no charging to the commissioner’s office. There will be no screaming, no blaming, no anger over this. You let it go.”

“With all due respect, captain, if you think that I can forget about Flass when I nailed him with his murder weapon and a direct witness, you're very optimistic”, Gordon snapped, standing up.

“Sit”, Carlos said.

Jim's total absence of control over his emotions was aggravating, and he was _done_ laying low while the man rampaged and destroyed what little work his fellow detectives could do. The blonde stood for a few moments, breathing hard, then he saw that Carlos would not relent and dropped down onto his chair.

“Who the fuck lied to cover him?” he asked in a clipped tone.

Carlos just glared at him, and let him do the deduction thing on his own. His face paled and he turned to Bullock's desk, even though he could not see it with the closed blinds. And he stood, again. Carlos clenched his fists.

 _God help me, if he doesn't get back into that chair, I will_ kill _him._

“Sit. Down”, he repeated.

Gordon sank down into his seat, once more, every pang of pain and rage plain on his face. _Yes, the man you love did something bad. Get over it._

“If you can't deal with this like a sensible adult, then you won't deal with it at all, is that understood?”, Alvarez quietly said. “I swear if you go rogue on us about this, Arkham will feel like a holiday resort by the time I'm done with you. Are we clear?”

Jim clenched his teeth.

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

 

###

 

Salvatore hadn't had an opportunity to really relax in a long while. To be honest, now was probably not the time, but he was in a comfy bed at nine in the morning on a sunny day, with a naked young woman on his arm. He made do. He watched TV, flicking through the channels. Kelly was still sleeping. Then again, it had been a quarter to one when she had knocked on his door, and they hadn't slept for a while. He wasn't sure he liked that she _had_ paid him a surprise visit. He could see her getting attached, clear as day. He was fond of her, too, so it was an especially shitty situation for everyone involved. _You let this go on for two years, that was way too long_.

He still fucked her as soon as she stirred. She melted against him, which was something he wished his _wife_ would do. After that, well... It was ten in the morning, he didn't need to be at the restaurant until noon, so he showered, sank into the sofa, and dealt with his disintegrating business over the phone. “Anyone chopped to pieces last night? No?”. _Thank God for small mercies._ Another warehouse had burned. He was going to run out of cash, and booze, and everything. Then again, he was saving _tons of money_ on salaries, lately.

Kelly went and showered, then paced for a while, then all but climbed on his cock. She had to shower again. He had to take several long minutes to remember what stupid issue he had been attending to prior to that. Once clean and clothed, Kelly paced some more, removing the dirty bedsheets, folding the covers, fluffing the cushions. He looked at her, kind of concerned, there, because she was a bundle of nerves, and he turned to her between two phone calls.

“I'm pretty sure the hotel deals with the whole bed thing, kiddo.”

“I'm sorry. I'm _sorry!_ It was messy”, she said.

And she joined him on the sofa, bare legs resting on his tights. He didn't even notice his hand finding its way to them.

He kept calling his men. No important topics, of course, nothing incriminating. Cute civilian girls didn't hold their tongues long under torture, so better be careful.

“Don't you have your other job to go to?” he asked an hour later.

“Called in sick yesterday evening”, she replied, finally slipping away to go and _clean_ some more.

She adjusted the flower pots, unfolded the corner of the oriental rug, fixed this, fixed that. He shook his head and let her deal with the mess in her _head_ , which was what she was struggling with, and clothed himself.

“You're not wearing that costume!” she snapped. “It's yesterday's.”

He sighed at that. It was getting a bit tiring, this.

“Why not? It's just fine.”

“It's crumpled”, she replied, getting a fresh one out of the closet. “You need to look _good_.”

 _Well, if it can make her happy._ He changed. He let himself be fussed over as he called the restaurant.

“I'll be there in thirty or so”, he told the manager. “And get me a burger and fries.”

One came to hate Italian food, especially when the menu didn't change in thirty years.

Kelly adjusted his tie for the tenth time. Smoothed his sleeves. Finally let her hands drop. She was _weeping._ That was a nasty blow to his stomach, really.

“ _Kelly_?”

She took a deep breath.

“I'm sorry. It's just... Turns out undercover work is _hard_ ”, she said.

 _Aw, shit_.

She stabbed him in the diaphragm before he could even _see_ the blade, then started sobbing in earnest.

 

###

 

“The Howe family is under protective custody”, Carlos explained to Gillian Loeb. “As you probably know. So are Jonathan Tucker and Agnes Heller. Olsen and Sanders did not trust the police, though, so they both decided to leave town for a while. Gordon put Sanders on a plane to Metropolis two days ago. Olsen joined her parents in Arizona.”

“And I assume that, as far as this investigation's progress is concerned, you have a variety of excuses?”

“The sightings of the black haired girl who sent that crate are the most we have. So far we have no prints, no reliable witnesses, no murder weapons, no footage, no _nothing._ We have questioned over eighty of Cadence Heller's fellow students, her mother, her friends, the entire staff of Gotham General from when she was hospitalized. Essen even brought in Montoya, who had worked on the girl's case. No one talks. We lost a lot of time on Lamb, who _really_ set out to make himself suspicious. We have considered that he might have been protecting the actual killer with his behaviour, but it can't be proven now. We are still _hoping_ to find out who the first rape victim was, but I'll have to be honest here, Gordon's idea of figuring out the way our perp locates her victims is our best shot. She won't let herself be found, we'll have to catch her in action.”

In the bullpen, several phones started ringing at once, which was never a herald of good news. Carlos' own phone started vibrating. So did Loeb's.

They both picked up. For Carlos, the caller was Sarah.

“Salvatore Maroni is dead”, she announced. “We found a pin drum. The killer warned Allen first, called him from the hotel room. She didn't talk, just played the Godfather theme. I bet that's the tune on the cylinder.”

Carlos turned the TV on, frantic. Jim barged in.

“Alvarez, Maroni is-”

“Dead, I know, I got the call. You join Essen at the Royal Hotel right now.”

The blonde vanished.

“How did it get out?” Alvarez asked Sarah. “Weren't you first on the scene?”

“Room service went in five minutes before we arrived. I'm willing to bet the news is all over town already.”

“If I can judge by the phones I hear ringing, every informant in town is calling us.

“I'm glad you like the sea”, Loeb told his interlocutor in a strangely calm voice considering the news. “Yes, I know, I said I would take you. You know I have a lot of work.”

Carlos frowned, but was distracted by a young cop who raced into his office.

“News, captain. Renato Castiglione is dead. So is his son. Maroni's lieutenant, was in control of the south of the Bowery. He was shot dead by his bodyguard.”

Then a detective came in.

“Someone just fired a rocket launcher into Maroni's restaurant.”

Then, another cop tried to fit in through the door.

“Captain, Felice Lorenzo was just executed. Maroni's top lieutenant. He was dragged out of his casino and set on fire.”

Carlos turned to the TV, where the news showed an aerial view of the city. Several buildings were on fire. A few more burst into flames as he was watching. He pressed his ear to his phone.

“Sarah?”

“Still here.”

“Gilzean is making his move.”

She swore.

And, in the corner of the room, Gillian Loeb continued his polite conversation.

“Yes, I fully understand. I will make sure you get that.”

 

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have taken it upon myself to steal parts of episode 18, because it was a damn good episode.


	23. Papillon

The place was unassuming enough: a small time dry-cleaning store, long bankrupt, with the windows covered in yellowed newspapers from seven years before. There was a “for sale” sign, just as yellowed. It looked abandoned, so Butch went in with three men and his gun drawn. The door was well oiled and barely made a noise. Inside, the place was dusty, filled with boxes and discarded clothes on coat hangers.

You could hear a girl’s voice from the basement, saying the same words over and over again.

“He did it! _He did it, he did it, he did it!_ And not just to me either.He should not get to walk away with it!”

There was sobbing, too, in a different voice.

They went down the stairs to the basement, as quietly as they could, and the sobbing stopped. This was going to be a bit of a Thermopylae situation, with the staircase being that narrow and that Kelly girl likely waiting for them with guns. Butch went first and bashed the door open as hard as he could, hoping she would have been stupid enough to hide against the wall. There was a “thump” and a groan. _Bingo_. She rolled away, shooting at them, but he had taken two steps back up the stairs and she couldn’t get him in her line of sight.

The “He did it! He did it!” recording was still playing.

Butch sighed. That girl would rather go down than be captured, at that glock of hers was a fifteen rounds. She had only shot thrice. This could get real long, provided she didn’t manage to move to a place where she _could_ hit them from.

“I guess no one wants to get us a civilian to use as a shield here?” he asked.

His men shrugged.

“Listen, Kelly… It’s Kelly, right? I only came to _talk_.”

She shifted to the left and he shot the ground three feet from her, so she would stay still. He moved back, took his vest off, then took two steps down, turned off the lights, threw his vest at her and tried not to die as he rolled inside while she shot at the garment.

“Alright”, he said as he disarmed her, crushing her under his admittedly substantial weight. “I’ll take the knives too, if you don’t mind.”

He pulled a butterfly knife from her belt and a dagger from her boot, and was unsurprised to find _another_ knife taped to her arm. Five minutes later, she was tied to a chair and the tape player with the kid voice recording was _thankfully_ turned off. Creepy thing. Then again, that was what you got for walking into a crazy’s nest.

The redhead panted in her chair, shaking with rage. Butch, who had sent his men away, inspected the room. Cozy place, half armory, half detective office. Three dozen guns, five rifles, a collection of knives that had to rival Zsasz’s… And next to that, a whiteboard with notes, and a pinboard covered in photos, news clippings and - _oh look at that -_ a box filled with “identity changes” records, complete with old name, new names and pictures. There was a hit-list on the pinboard, too, with a great many more names crossed than the Music Box Killer had left victims.

“I have to say you’re difficult to track down. I’ve had a man after you for more than a week and he kept losing you”, he said, sitting next to her.

She glared at him, that pretty face twisted by loathing.

“See, I’ve been a _big_ fan of your work since the beginning. Still am. I mean, you've got _style_. My girlfriend used to think so, too. She _loved_ what you did to Strickland.”

“As did a great many people. Your point being?”

He patted her shoulder.

“My point is: atta girl, keep going!”

She gaped at him, dumbfounded. He stood and went to check that hitlist again.

~~_Zachary Brook: Every B. Y. T., Police._ ~~

~~_Jacob Strickland : Teenage prostitute, Zappa_ ~~

_Julian Lenoir: ???_

_Anita Garcia-Vasquez: Murder Incorporated, Springsteen_

More strangers, some crossed out. Then:

_Oswald Cobblepot: Psycho Killer, Talking Heads_

_Victor Zsasz: Rippin Kittin, Golden Boy_

_Butch Gilzean: Gangster of love, Talking Heads_.

“Hey! I’m on there! Good song too. And will you stop trying to untie yourself? That duct tape will hold.”

She trashed some more.

~~_Salvatore Maroni: Speak softly love, Andy Williams._ ~~

The “Godfather”’s love theme. Well, not surprise there. As far as Butch knew, the girl had started her “Liza” thing two years before. Undercover spy work like that messed with your heart. And, unlike Liza, she had actually _fucked_ her target. No wonder she’d been distraught enough to let herself be followed straight to her hideout.

“I’m sorry for your loss”, he said, sincerely. “Give it ten years and it’s easier to stomach, when it’s personal.”

“How did you find me?”

“I kind of asked myself ‘how is it that hardened criminals who have been on the run for years let themselves be driven to their own execution scene’. You have to admit, that’s a little weird. Then it hit me. _Pussy_. It had to be pussy. It’s _always_ pussy.”

She snorted.

“Whatever works, right?”

“Yes. Still, two years working for Sal’ is a long time. I’d never had thought of you, not even after that very nice ‘walking out of the shower naked’ thing you did when we raided his house. I mean, it’s one thing to know you sleep with the man, but you nailed the terrified civilian act. Then you were on _TV_. Pretending to be a journalist during Loeb's speech. Of course, you didn’t look quite like this.”

The girl winced. He moved to her and pulled on her smooth, red hair, and it remained firmly attached.

“I take it the black hair is the wig?”

“What the _hell_ do you want, Gilzean?”

He went back to the board and erased his name from the hit list.

“Well, see, I don’t mind you going all rogue at the moment. You’re fun, you’re creative, I’d hire you if it were a possibility, but you’re really into the killing criminals thing, so I guess not. Still, as it turns out, the people on _my_ shit list are on yours too! So I guess we can share territory. You don’t mess with my people and I won’t mess with cute, old, sweet Mrs. Heller. Fine with you?”

Kelly blanched. Butch looked at the last line on the list: _Carmine Falcone - ???._ He erased the question marks, and wrote “Maria, Blondie” next to the Don’s name.

 

###

 

“There’s war in the streets”, Jim announced to Sarah, who had been watching the smoke of distant fires through the windows of Maroni’s suite. “It's going to be all hands on deck, I think Alvarez will call us back.”

She counted the fires and didn't turn away from the window, forgetting about the body on the floor.

“What have you seen so far?”

That line of questioning was Maggie's job, and Carlos', but she couldn't shed the managing part of her mind that dispatched men around town and analysed where Gilzean's men would hit first, where _Falcone's_ would.

“I've been on the phone with friends all the way here”, Harvey said. “What I heard is Gilzean flat out executed three of Maroni's lieutenants, the ones right next in line as heads of the family. He had bought most of their men weeks ago, apparently. The rest of Maroni's family folded real quick save for Vittorio. Now what's happening is... Butch holds the Bowery, but what he  _wants_ is the Theater District.  _That's_ his home.”

“He doesn't have the men to take it from Falcone.”

“Yeah, well,  _Theater district is Fish's_ . He has more friend than you'd think there. Anyway, Falcone is after the docks, so it's open war in both parts of town. Throw in Vittorio who's trying to grab what territory he can, real fucking mess out here. So, any idea who killed Maroni? This hotel has camera, right?”

Sarah walked to Maroni, who was laying on his back in the middle of the room. He had been stabbed, only twice, once in the belly and once in the heart.

“His mistress. Kelly Reese. She was one of his employees. Waitress, previously maid at his house. His bodyguard saw her leave, she was crying, said Maroni had put an end to the relationship. He let her walk away.”

Harvey started to laugh.

“Holy hell, she pulled a Liza.”

Sarah needed a second to place the name, then remembered about the woman Fish Mooney had sent to spy on Carmine Falcone.

“If we want to be accurate”, she corrected, “Liza pulled a Kelly. Our perp planted herself in his home two years ago.”

“Do we have footage?”

“Very little. Not enough to see her face. But people knew her. We'll have a composite artist work with whoever met her.”

“Then we finally have  _something_ ”, Jim commented. “That being said... It might not be the same woman as the one who sent the crate to the Howe's.”

“Let's start by catching the one we  _finally_ have something on, then ask  _her_ ”, Sarah replied. “But first-”

“First, it's all hands on deck”, Harvey cut in, looking at his phone. “Assistance needed in the Theater District. See you later, cap'.”

 

###

 

“Now? You want to discuss this NOW?” Harvey shouted as Jim sped through town, on their way to the Theater District.

At that hour, traffic was at a crawl on any given day. If you threw in arson and urban guerilla, you were lucky to make any progress. So Jim had to get creative with the roads he took, zigzagging through small streets, parking lots, tires screeching at every corner, car shaking worse than his hands.

Reckless driving was not going to get them to the other side of town in less than thirty minutes, and he was done thinking of Harvey lying to exonerate Flass, he was done wondering why he had not even  _warned_ him, he was done raging about it in his  _mind_ , he needed the words to get out.

“Yes, I want to talk about this  _now_ . Why, the timing is not right for you? You need a few more hours to come up with excuses?”

“Fucking hell, can't you get your priorities in order here?”

Jim negotiated a tricky hairpin bend, and bit the inside of his cheeks for a moment.

“You could have had the bloody courtesy to  _tell_ me.”

“Watch the  _road_ !”

“ _I'm watching the road.”_

“And I didn't have to tell you a thing. My business. My skin to save.”

Jim crushed the brakes, sending everything in the car flying, then turned off the engine.

He didn't even have  _words_ .

“I do what's right for  _me_ ”, Harvey snapped after a few moments. “I don't owe you any kind of explanation.”

“You should have come to me”, Jim heard himself say, from a distant place.

He stared at the street in front of him.

“Why? Because we  _fuck_ ?” his partner taunted. “The hell does that change? Sorry to break your bubble but that does not mean a  _thing_ . We're not  _together_ . You don't get to meddle in my business.”

“You should have come to me”, the blonde repeated.

“Oh for God's sake, stop with the hero com-”

“ _Whatever_ they had on you. I would have gone to  _hell and back_ to get you out of it. To  _hell and back_ .”

“WHEN HAVE I EVER ASKED YOU TO?”

“You don't  _fucking need_ to ask me.”

“Well what about  _you_ ask  _me_ if I want you to?  _Because I don't!_ None of your business. I'll handle myself.”

“With results like  _Flass getting out_ ?”

“Yeah, even with results like that. Still better than having to save your ass after you go after Loeb and his pals  _again_ . To fucking ' _hell and back_ '. You absolute  _moron_ .”

“What do they have, Harv'?”

“You know full well what they have. I told you. Remember, you went all nice and forgiving. ' _That was then'._ ”

_Hits for the mob. And Loeb knew._

Jim focused on the memory of Harvey's face the day before, when he hadn't yet prepared a wall of anger.  _I fucked up._

“Whatever proof Loeb has, I'll get it”, he promised.

“No. You know, in years, decades I've worked there, Loeb never  _had_ to pull that card on me. Not before you arrived and started that crusade of yours.”

“Well, that means he's  _finally_ shaking a little.”

“Don't be stupid. He has nothing to shake about. Just drop it.”

Jim reached over and put a hand on his tight.

“I don't plan to. And I'll get that evidence.”

Harvey looked down at his hand.

“We're done”, he said casually. “It was a  _mistake_ to let you push me into this. I knew you'd end up acting like an idiot.”

The younger man barely even felt pain. Even the anger was relatively tame at that. Exhaustion rolled over him.

“You're such a  _coward_ ”, he snapped.

“Congrats for figuring that out, Sherlock! What tipped you off?”

“ _I want this_ ”, Jim said, clenching his hand around Harvey's tight. “I want this, I want this to last, I am not  _afraid_ , and I'm not going to let you throw crap like ' _does not mean a thing_ ' to my face, because you might think you're fucking  _subtle_ about what you feel, but Jesus you have to think I'm  _blind_ .”

His partner gave him a long, scathing look.

“Oh I have been plenty subtle.”

“I'm going after Loeb whether you stop this or not”, Jim pointed out.

Harvey ignored that. His tone went from anger to malevolence.

“You want  _not_ subtle? Because I can do not subtle. I don't  _want_ to be with you. I've been through that shit before, the fucking  _reckless_ ,  _crazy_ ,  _suicidal_ thing. I've been the one picking up the pieces. I've been the one  _trying, praying, begging_ for Maria to listen and to calm down and not to get herself killed. I've been through that before. WORST YEARS OF MY LIFE.  _She doesn't even have a_ grave _and neither will you._ ”

Jim stared at him, stunned by how blatant and simple and deep  _that_ explanation was, and unable to come up with an answer, even with a promise to stay safe. Harvey glared at him, breathing hard. Then the anger fell and he just shook his head, wiping a hand over his face.

“Drive”, he said. “City's on fire. Priorities.”

 

###

 

The Theater district  _was_ a war zone. As it turned out, Butch Gilzean did have friends who had not hesitated to turn against Falcone. Key points had fallen and been retaken by Carmine's side. Some were still under Gilzean's control. Barricades had been erected on the main streets, gunmen were posted on the roofs.

Loeb's orders to defend some of the districts' key buildings had been directly related to who their owner was. Namely, the police was to protect Falcone's territory.

“I say we let them all shoot each other into oblivion”, Harvey suggested after barely escaping machine gun fire. “Let the chips fall where they may.”

“There are civilians behind those barricades.”

“Come on, they live in this district, they're not stupid enough to get themselves shot at. You don't last two weeks around here if you don't have stellar survival instincts.”

_I'm sorry I can't promise you not to die_ , Jim thought.

“I'm checking anyway”, he said, sneaking from what was relatively safe terrain - save for the machine guns - and into real danger.

Harvey swore and followed.  _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

Behind the barricades, the fight was raging. Men in suits were shooting at other men in suits, at thugs, and at cops. And both sides had brought their wild cards to the party. A teenage boy, skin sweaty and blistered, was playing with a flame-thrower, from the roofs, trying to clear the barricades from their defenders. A bulky man was following him around, shooting anyone who even looked at the kid. The street leading to Fish's club - Cobblepot's, now - was defended by one of Zsasz girls. A young woman with long black hair and a dust mask was jumping from fire escape to fire escape, firing at the assailants. She never missed.

_That's..._

_“Harvey!”_ Jim called, pointing at the woman just as she dropped behind Zsasz' sidekick and blew her brains in, with not an hesitation.

_Eat all you can buffet for vigilantes_ .

She grabbed her victim's weapon and dropped from the barricades and into the crowd. Jim went after her. She was good, really good, army style training, and not a second of hesitation nor a sign of mercy. Gangsters made for good human shields, and their weapons were easy to steal once you had killed them. She kept moving and hiding behind bigger distractions, and it took a while for Jim to get to her. He did manage to grab her hair - freeing a red ponytail from the confines of the black wig - and nearly ended up with his throat sliced. She ran again as his hand flew to the cut she had managed to inflict, not deep but still bloody.

She was running away from all of the fighting, through an alley that led away from the district's important buildings and into the seediest parts of the red lights district. He chased her. She was a fucking  _climber_ , it was like trying to catch Selina Kyle on crack.

She would have escaped if the buildings had been in a better state. Unfortunately for her, she grabbed a ladder that broke under her weight. She fell to the ground and rolled to her feet, gun pointed at Jim. He held his to her face.

He knew she would not shoot. He was not a criminal.

“Kelly Reese, or whatever your name is, you are under arrest for the murder of Salvatore Maroni”, he said.

She glared at him, eyes dark and unblinking behind her red bangs. She danced from one foot to the other. He didn't move.

“Just surrender, Kelly.”

And then he heard Harvey's voice.

“Jim.”

He kept his gun pointed at the woman, and turned. His partner was approaching, panting, hands in the air.  _Simon Lamb_ was holding a gun to his head. His second weapon was pointed at Jim, who got his second gun out and aimed it at Lamb's face.

The  _hitman_ . That body in the bathtub had been the  _hitman_ , and DNA tests took weeks.

“Hello, detective Gordon. Seems like we have hit a bit of a standstill here. You have my girlfriend, I have your boyfriend, what are we to do?”

He was right behind Harvey, yet too far for the cop to land a blow. Jim could see the man's smirk and part of his face, but he kept his hostage well into Jim's line of fire.

“So I take it Maroni's man had a nasty surprise?” Jim asked.

Lamb grinned.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Drop the gun, Simon.”

The young man clicked his tongue.

“I don't think so. Let Kelly go.”

“I don't think so.”

“I'm not going to dance around this all day, you know? You don't exactly have the advantage.”

Jim snorted.

“You are vigilantes. You wouldn't kill  _cops_ .”

Simon shook his head, smiling.

“A  _cop_ . Seven years ago, Harvey Bullock - be it for money, or self-preservation - killed a man on Carmine Falcone's orders. Shot him, dropped his body from Pioneer's bridge, never to be found again. In any case, he is a murderer, and I'm not overly fond of him. Also, Jim Gordon... You're a much better man than I am.”

Kelly dropped her gun and raised her hands. Lamb's grin made it clear that it was  _not_ a victory. He lowered his gun from Harvey's head to his shoulder and fired. Jim heard himself screaming, and he  _nearly_ ,  _nearly_ put a bullet into Kelly's brain. But she was unarmed.  _He couldn't._

Lamb smirked, crouching behind Harvey who had fallen to his knees in pain. He pushed the barrel of his gun against the back of his head.

“Now, are you going to let my partner go, or should I try again?” he taunted.

Jim stared at him, ignoring Harvey's ' _don't'._ He felt like his body was made of lead and cotton at the same time. His ears were buzzing.  _Harvey_ . 

He swallowed hard, after a few minutes of that. Blood was dripping from his partner's wound, pooling on the pavement.

“Go”, he murmured to the two killers. “ _GO!_ ”

Kelly raced to the closest fire escape and vanished through the roofs. Simon pulled Harvey to his feet and dragged him to the end of the alley. He released him at the corner and started running.

 

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reserve the right to make all the cops in this story dumb as rocks so I can have more plot.


	24. Policy of truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) This is the final chapter!  
> b) I don't know how the writers on Criminal Minds and Law and Order stay sane, because that _case_ , I feel dirty just writing it.

“Fowley street, just get to Fowley street”, Carlos told Gordon over the phone. “We hold the subway station and it's not too far from you. Think you'll manage?”

Bullock had been shot and needed medical assistance, but as much as Carlos wanted to extract him and his partner, there was just _no_ way to get to them. They were square between the Theater district and the docks. 

“Yeah. Now...  _Simon Lamb is alive_ . He's our perp. That Kelly girl is his partner and  _they are in the district shooting at people_ . Get the word out. Get them!”

“ _What_ ?”

“They... HARVEY!  _Harv'!_ ”

And, on that, Gordon hung up.

 

###

 

The chips were done falling at six in the morning, the gunshots finally dying down.

Butch sat at his favorite table in the club and sipped a glass of his finest wine. Taking the club had been his only goal. Holding the entirety of Fish's territory and half the docks was a nice bonus. One of his men brought Maroni's wife to his table, and he poured her a glass. She was a Family girl, bred and born, daughter to one of Luigi Maroni's most trusted lieutenants, and naturally given to his son. A though cookie.

“Giulia, please, please, take a seat.”

“Where are my boys?”

“I'll have Markie drive you to them as soon as the streets are reopened. As you probably saw when we brought you in, it's messy out there.”

She sat.

“Is this going to be a blackmail attempt?”

“No. No, I have nothing against you.”

“I seem to recall you told Salvatore that you would 'blow my brains in' with my sons watching, and then kill the boys. You have spent the last months ruining us.”

“And I'll spent the _next_ rebuilding. So, with Sal', it got _personal_. The bastard sold my lover to Falcone. I'm afraid I had to rake him 'cross the coals. You know how it goes. Now, though, someone else killed him, so what would be the point?”

“Like that girl didn't work for you.”

“Heh. No, unfortunately. She's that 'music box killer' the news are all over. You can easily call Gillian and confirm that with him.”

She studied his face.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want your help. Your friendship. I want our new, composite family to stand strong.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh yes I do. I want it stronger, actually. Strong enough to take the city.”

_Strong enough to take Falcone out._

Giulia snorted.

“And you'll need my support for that. To keep the wolves from turning against you.”

“Yes. But I have a very nice offer. How old are your boys? Seven, aren't they? As it turns out, I will  _not_ have children... So  _they_ could benefit from having someone take care of business while they grow. Me... Me, I get to retire after twenty years or so, nice villa next to the sea, piles of money...”

He could see the cogs running in her head as she assessed the risks and considered her options. He stood and walked to the bar to get a bottle of gin, though he made sure not to let her see  _any_ shaking there. It was still there, very faint, even when he put all of his will into ignoring the tingling and the pain.

“I'm a very busy man and I haven't got all day”, he said. “It won't cost much,  _just_ your voice.”

She didn't give him a 'yes', but she did not refuse either, just changed the topic.

“And how do you plan to prevent Falcone from taking you out before the day is done?”

“Oh, I have my ways.”

 

###

 

Jim fidgeted in the chair next to Harvey's hospital bed, waiting from him to emerge from the anaesthesia. He had been fading in and out for twenty minutes. The surgery had gone well, Jim knew that, and anyway it was just a shoulder injury, but Jim  _hated_ hospitals. And having to carry Harvey across two blocks after he had passed out hadn't helped his nerves.

If he crossed Lamb's path again, he would slaughter him.

“Still not up?” Sarah asked as she came in with two steaming cups of coffee.

She had arrived at the hospital an hour before and waited with him as Harvey was being operated. She had fussed over Jim's cut to the throat. She had given him a clean, ironed man's shirt that she happened to have in her trunk and that smelled like her own laundry. It was a bit tight for Jim - though he figured it would fit Alvarez just fine - but it was a welcome change from his blood-soaked vest and shirt.

“No. News from Alvarez?”

“We found neither of the girls. Pamela Olsen was not at her parent's house in Arizona. She left two days ago to go shopping, called them to tell them she had found herself a boyfriend and would spend a few days with him. From what her father told the cops, that's just like her. For Marcy, the manager from her hotel in Metropolis saw her walk out yesterday morning, she never came back. You really think it's one of them?”

“I'm not sure at all. 'Kelly' wore a mask over most of her face. Add to that long bangs and more eye-shadow than an Egyptian princess, I could not see a thing.”

“We'll bring them in.”

“You fucking let 'em  _go_ ?” Harvey moaned.

_YOU WERE BLEEDING OUT_ , Jim nearly screamed. Instead he found himself crushing his lips to the man's.

He vaguely noticed Sarah panicking for a second, before she found a flat surface to drop the drinks on and left. He kissed Harvey again. For a moment, his partner returned the kiss, then he tensed.

“ _Jim_ ”, he warned.

The blonde moved away.

“I'll go and tell the nurses you're coming to”, he said, leaving the room.

He waited an entire hour, so Harvey would be lucid when he returned. He let Sarah keep him company in the meantime. When he returned, she took one look at his face, nodded and left.

“That ain't ominous at all”, his partner commented, watching her go.

Jim blocked the door, walked to him and kissed him  _again_ , paying no mind to his protests. Harvey shook himself away, wincing as his shoulder moved.

“Fucking hell! I haven't forgotten the last time we spoke, asshole!”

“Give me five minutes, I had to  _carry you_ all across town, I get to indulge a little.”

“ _JIM!”_ the older man snapped, this time with anger.

“It's fine if we stop”, the blonde said, not moving his face away. “I can't promise you a thing. I can't promise to stay safe, I can't promise not to run blindly into danger, I can't promise not to go after the corrupt and the criminals.”

He pressed his lips to Harvey's again, briefly, and pressed their foreheads together. He closed his eyes.

“It's just not in me to stop”, he added.

“I know”, Harvey murmured.

“And I'll still go to Loeb to get whatever he has on you and make him eat it.”

“I  _know_ .”

“And I might slip every now and then and do stupid things like kiss you, because, come on, I think you might  _just_ be Playgirl model material.”

Harvey chuckled, painfully.

“But I won't tear us apart to keep you close”, Jim ended. “If moving on is better for you, then  _do. Please._ ”

His partner closed his eyes and said nothing, tense, lips tightly pressed, shaking ever so slightly. Minutes went by.

“ _Thank you”,_ he replied.

Jim nodded and held him close.

 

###

 

Butch walked down to the basement, and went to the last room, where the previous tenant of the club was being held. The kid  _did_ look pathetic there. He shook more than Butch, for a start, and  _he_ didn't have nerve damage. He looked at Butch's “professional interrogator” with raw terror, though the guy was frankly less scary than most of the men in that line of business, and hadn't even started working.

Gilzean hoped Oswald would sing before the  _work_ started in earnest, because he could not stomach the idea of it happening to  _anyone_ , let alone under his own roof. His skin crawled at the thought.

“Hey there, Cobblepot”, he said with a smile. “I'm sorry it has to come to this. Now, I know everything personal between us is already settled, but you know how business goes. I find myself in need of information and  _what did I hear_ ? You were alone for  _hours_ in Falcone's house when he was arrested! Now, come on, I know you snooped. That's what you do. You couldn't have stopped yourself. Imagine how curious I am about what you found.”

The young man did not even stop to think.

“W-we d-don't have to be enemies, B-butch. I-I'll tell you  _everything_ .”

Gilzean nearly groaned at the sudden realization that the idiot had no  _idea_ he had killed his mother, which would have been a great thing if he had not just, basically, admitted to doing it.

_Everything personal between us is already settled._

He saw the kid mull over his words - which he was bound to analyse and dissect - and freeze. Then understanding dawned and his fear turned to rage. There would be no volunteering of information there.

“You  _bastard_ ”, Oswald said. “You heartless, despicable,  _vile_ bastard. SHE HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS. SHE WAS  _HARMLESS_ . SHE WAS  _GOOD_ .”

Butch shook his head.  _Yeah, well, hindsight is 100 percent._ It was easy to overreact when the love of your life  _died_ .

“Do your thing, Teddy.”

Cobblepot didn't even shudder. Gilzean left before his man could start with the tools. Teddy called him back before he reached the stairs.

“Uh, boss, there's something you need to see.”

_Unless there's a bloody_ unicorn _in that room, NO THERE IS NOT._ He could not bear the idea of going in, yet he did, and nearly retched. Cobblepot was shirtless and  _GodOhGod_ . Gilzean's knees went weak at the sight of the scar tissue, all over his torso and arms. Deep, deep cuts, some still inflamed, some long healed. He heaved.

“Holy shit.”

Then he took in the appearance of the scars. They weren't chaotic as his. No skin had been flayed, there were no acid burns, no branding, and the cuts didn't look like stabbing wounds at all.

Butch heaved again.

“What have you  _done_ to yourself, kid _?”_

Oswald grinned with pure, raw  _evil_ .

Spirals and branches and patterns and dots, carved there on purpose, on someone who had  _not_ been thrashing and screaming.

The young man chuckled.

“You know me. What wouldn't I give for my friends?”

“Untie him and throw him out!” Butch snapped, going cold, skin clammy.

_Zsasz Zsasz Zsasz Zsasz Zsasz. T_ he kid had  _bought_ Zsasz, right under Falcone's nose. And Maroni had never managed to pin that series of murders on the hitman, no  _wonder_ , if he had  _help_ .

Teddy blinked.

“Boss?”

“ _Now. Now, now, now, get him out of the bui-_ ”

The shooting started upstairs.

 

###

 

Jim felt drained. He listened to the friendly banter between Sarah and Harvey, and smiled during the blanks, but mostly he felt alone in that hospital room, having walled himself inside his head. He was paying so little attention that he earned frowns when he kept smiling at darker topics, and had to adjust his reactions.

They were talking “balance of power between the families”, but he couldn't quite focus on that.

Then Montoya walked in, didn't bother greeting them, and threw a cardboard folder full of documents on Harvey's knees. The cop picked it up and opened it.

“What's th...”

Then he paled.

“I have yours”, Montoya told Sarah, handing her another folder. “And Carlos'.”

Jim moved closer. Harvey was inspecting a blurry picture of a younger himself over a dead body.  _That's..._ It was Loeb's evidence. Whatever he had against them. Sarah had blanched looking at her own file. She stuffed it inside her bag and closed the zipper.

_Not only_ Harvey _, but Sarah and Alvarez too._ Jim felt ill.

“How did you get those?” Essen asked.

“Simon Lamb dropped two duffel bags full of those on my balcony. Said he had kept whatever  _they_ cared about, and that they had no interest in killing the cops who had been coerced into murder. So he gave me this and told me to sort that mess up.”

“And how did  _he_ get that?” Jim asked.

Harvey closed his own file.

“How would I know?” Montoya snapped back. “He didn't stay for tea!”

“You have Carlos', you said?” Sarah cut in.

“I'll give it to  _him_ .”

Jim studied Renee's face, her attitude, her animosity.

“You know what I think?” he said.

She whirled to him.

“I don't think Lamb gave you those. So what about you tell us who Kelly is?”

“I can't tell you that because I don't know.”

“Ah really. Because, see, you told me you went to confront Maroni, and  _right after that_ you went to your Captain to ask for leave and  _vanished_ . Now I know the story you gave me, and I think it's  _bullcrap_ .”

“Well I'm not so interested in what you think.”

“What I  _THINK_ is that you walked into his restaurant and crossed paths with that cute, new, red haired waitress of his. She had just started working there, right? Since his house had been burned down and he wanted to keep her employed. So you  _saw_ her and  _recognized_ her, and  _flipped out_ because it's someone you like, it's one of the friends, and you wouldn't sell her. And she likes  _you_ , so she came to you with the files. So  _which one_ , Renee? We're arresting them both  _anyway_ .”

Sarah gaped at Montoya.

“Is he right?”

“No he isn't. Now if you'll excuse me”, Renee replied, “I have a delivery for Alvarez.”

 

###

 

Butch was unsurprised to find the basement window sealed off from the outside. He pushed Oswald with his gun, trying to get him to limp faster towards the stairs. The bastard didn't even bother trying. He buttoned his vest and straightened it as if he could get the thing to look right when it was all torn up and bloody. He kept chuckling.

“I can still shoot you and be done with this”, Butch said.

He was going to be  _sick_ .  _Zsasz Zsasz Zsasz._ Maybe he would manage not to obey, maybe he would manage not to beg not to be  _hurt_ again, maybe he could escape being strapped to a table for weeks, weeks, weeks, food stuffed down his stomach through a tube, as Zsasz did his thing then patched him up, sewed the wounds shut so they would heal enough to be pulled open.

He heaved at every step.

“You  _could_ but then there would be no one to tell him to be  _nice_ to you. He knows already he's allowed to have  _all the fun he wants_ to avenge me.”

“You let him do  _that_ to you. You think you can  _control_ him.”

Oswald shivered.

“What I think is none of your concern. And maybe if Gabe hadn't met such an unfortunate end, I wouldn't have had to find myself another trusted  _FRIEND._ Maybe if my mother had been  _spared_ , I wouldn't have needed to find myself someone with the brawn to complement my wit. Someone not  _crippled_ who would put her murderer through  _exactly_ what I envisioned.”

_He's as crazy as Victor. He'll give you to him. Just kill him. Just kill yourself._

“Climb”, Butch ordered as they finally reached the stairs.

He had to push him and keep him upright and basically shove him up, but they eventually reached the main floor. There were bodies all around, but some of Butch's men were alive, taking cover, some of them still armed. They would not shoot, however. Zsasz had that effect on people. He would stand in the middle of a room like a sitting duck, and people were too terrified to fire. When they did, they never seemed to aim straight. It was like his insanity made him bulletproof.

Here, though, he was evenly matched.

Butch had never been that  _happy_ to see a serial killer.

“Hey, Kelly!”, he greeted. “What a nice surprise!”

Things seemed pretty much deadlocked there. The redhead had a gun pointed at Zsasz and another at his sidekick, the one remaining hitgirl of that creepy team of three.  _He_ had a gun pointed at Kelly - whom he was eyeing like a starving man looked at roast sirloin - and at a blonde guy who seemed to be her partner. The partner was aiming at Zsasz and his girl, the hitgirl at the two vigilantes.

Kelly snorted.

“What, you're on a first name basis now?” her partner snapped, teasing.

She chuckled, not taking her eyes away from Zsasz.

Oswald laughed, shaking with mirth.

“Oh, this is  _brilliant_ . What a marvellous situation we have here. Oh,  _Victor_ , you found your  _girlfriend._ ” - He turned to Butch. - “You have no idea how hard I've been looking for her.  _Witnesses_ , you know.”

“Can I  _keep_ her, creep?” Zsasz asked.

“Only if you kill everyone else,  _creep_ . And don't call me that.”

Gilzean decided to even the odds a bit and shot Zsasz's girl in the head. He felt more than a bit sorry about that. He knew  _how_ Victor made those girls. He'd been on the receiving end. Cobblepot cast him a “How dare you!” glare.

Then the fire sprinklers turned on and whatever came out of them smelled like a mix of rubbing alcohol and gasoline. Everyone who had ever met the youngest member of Butch's team, teenage zippo-loving Garfield Lynns, forgot about Zsasz and started running to the exit.

_Fuck, I loved the place_ , Butch thought before throwing Cobblepot to the ground and racing to the door. Zsasz started shooting at everyone, and stopped as he saw Kelly race away. He went after her, that “Simon” guy followed, and everything burst into flame.

Butch stopped -  _maybe the whole murdering his Ma' thing had been a bit harsh_ \- then went back to pick Cobblepot up and drag him out. Stupidest decision of his life, he knew. Ah well.

 

###

 

Jim had never had an easiest arrest in his whole career. Never.

“Simon Lamb”, he said with a shit eating grin, “you're under arrest for the murders of Jacob Strickland, Deborah Eliott, Jaime Denis, Alma Palmer, and quite a few others. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law...”

Lamb rolled his eyes from his hospital bed, bandaged leg up in the air. He was a lucky bastard to have managed to shed his pants before he had entirely caught fire, but that had left him open to being shot at, which he had been, twice, in the arm. Zsasz seemed to be a shitty shot when otherwise occupied. The hitman had gone after Kelly and been found bleeding out three streets away. He, too, would live. He, too, was firmly manacled to his hospital bed, until he was fit enough to be sent to Blackgate. He was in a worse state than Lamb, though. Simon would be released that very same day.

And all Jim had to do to arrest him was to cross two corridors and a hallway. Cobblepot had called him to tell him to get to the E.R., when he had  _already_ been in Gotham General.

Jim finished reading Lamb his Miranda rights.

“I don't suppose you want to tell us where to find your partner?

Simon smiled.

“Partner? Ah, no, I don't have one. All of the murders? Mine. I confess to them. Do you want all the sordid details? The murder weapons with my prints, maybe? Ask away.”

Jim clenched his teeth. They had a list and she would proceed with the murders as long as she was out. Sanders and Olsen were still nowhere to be found. They had tried to prompt Jonathan Tucker for ideas, seeing how he was still in protective custody, but he had nothing to give them. “Well, uh, Pamela is probably out partying”, he had said, echoing her father's words without having been told of the man's explanation for her disappearance. “Try hitting hipster bars and any cinema that airs kid movies, that's how her dad used to track her down when we were in school”. “Are you sure Marcy is _gone_?”.

“I talked to Marcy a while ago”, he said. “She told us about dating Andrew Howe. How he pushed for sex and she never gave in. The words she used were... _'A vengeful bastard when he did not get his way'_ . Was it her, Simon, the second victim?”

The man chuckled.

“I don't feel in a confiding mood. Mind turning on the news? I'm really curious about that serial killer case.”

“You know you're about to be sent to Blackgate when you and your friend took out  _Salvatore Maroni_ , don't you? You might want to start talking, so you get a chance to be transferred to some other state where you don't have so many enemies.”

The vigilante smiled to him, pale eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Oh I don't mind.  _It's too late to change events, it's time to face the consequence.”_

Jim frowned at that. There was something in the man's tone that made it unnatural. His words were familiar, too.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I've always been sure.”

 

###

 

Harvey had insisted to come back to the GCPD with Jim. “What, that  _scratch_ ?” he had said about his bullet would, freshly sutured. He was a bit out of it, just a bit, a barely noticeable “bit”. Jim knew he was on a dose of painkillers high enough to knock out a horse, though, so he had parked him on his chair and flat out shouted at him when he attempted to stand.

So Harvey stayed there, leering at Lamb's cell from above, while Jim catalogued the criminal's possessions.

“That backpack is like Mary Poppins' bag”, he commented as he took a fifth gun out.

He was starting to run out of paper bags for the evidence he had to send to forensics and ballistics. Five guns, ten boxes of ammo, two butterfly knives, two hunting knives, grenades, lockpicks, keys, six cellphones, six chargers, a dictaphone with a recording of Cadence Heller's voice saying “He did it! He did it, he did it, he did it! And not just to me either. He should not get to walk away with it!” again and again. More weapons. Five pin drums with labels: “BG”, “OC”, “VZ”, “GL”, “TH”. Butch Gilzean, Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, he suspected. As for the two others, he had no idea.

He took the music box out and placed the first cylinder in.

“Talking Heads, gangster of love”, Harvey announced after the tune had been playing for ten seconds. “Talking Heads, psycho killer”, he said as Jim played the second song. “What? I like the band!”

No one managed to recognize the “VZ” song, nor the “GL” song. Jim was inserting the fifth pin drum when one of the phones started ringing.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP”, he screamed, delving through the evidence box for the phone.

By the time he dug it up and got it out of its bag, it had stopped ringing. He was about to check for the caller's number when the phone rang again. He picked up, and the caller hung up.  _Private number, too_ .

Then he thought about it for a second. Simon carried  _six_ phones, yet could have  _talked_ on any of them. Which meant the message was not what the caller  _said._ He grabbed the charger, plugged the phone in so the battery would not run out, then opened the settings and went for the current ringtone.

“Alright!” he shouted as the tone started playing. “Anybody knows this song?”

 

###

 

“I was going to go on a limb and assume it was the song for the next victim on your list”, Jim told Simon, who was grinning like the maniac he was. “Then we found the lyrics and I think... Not so much. It sounds like a message to Cadence Heller, all of it.  _'You had something to hide, should have hidden it, shouldn't you. Now you're not satisfied with what you're being put through'_ .”

The rest of that Depeche Mode song was... Much of the same, like someone was blaming someone else for telling dangerous truths.

_'It’s just time to pay the price for not listening to advice and deciding in your youth on the policy of truth. Things could be so different now. It used to be so civilised. You will always wonder how it could have been if you’d only lied.'_

If Jim had been a boy who had gone batshit insane and committed a series of musically themed murders after his friend had committed suicide because she was being harassed for telling the truth... Yeah, he probably would have found meaning in that song.

Whatever it meant, it couldn't be anything good. Carlos was on the phone with the cops watching the Howe, to tell them to reinforce the security.

“What happens when ' _it's time to face the consequence'_?” Jim asked. “Is that your curtain call? What does your girl do at that point?”

“It's just a _ringtone_ , detective.”

“With those lyrics? Like hell.”

“Get me captain Alvarez!” a man shouted from the entrance, as he walked over to the front desk, a box in his hands.

Jim turned. It was Gregory Howe. Simon started whistling the bloody song.

 

###

 

Carlos called the security firm _again_ as Howe shook and paced in his office. Gordon was attempting to calm him down, but there was little to say.

Howe had unpacked the box. It contained a shattered skull. “My wife is beside herself. We've been picking that up all over the house and it better not be... It better not be...”. The man's stomach had lurched at that and he had puked in the trash can. Alvarez had no doubt it _was_ his son's skull.

The cops tasked with watching the safe house were nowhere to be found. The man had called his favorite security firm to get his wife out of the house, and brought one of the bodyguards with him to the precincts. The four others, who had taken Thelma Howe away, didn't answer their phones. Neither did she. Carlos had sent a car to the Howe's home, and it was empty.

Gregory started sobbing as Carlos hung up once again, after being told that the four men were still AWOL. Several cops, outside, kept calling his wife and the security guards, to no avail. Four cars had gone to the house and found it empty. They were still looking for the cops.

“Let me talk to that piece of _shit_ ”, the man screamed, pointing at the direction of the holding cells through the floor.

His phone started ringing but he paid no attention to it.

“I swear _I'll_ get him to talk!”

“Sir, please pick up”, Carlos told him.

Howe blinked, and patted his pocked, digging up a phone.

“That's not mine”, he said.

Alvarez went white as he recognized the ringtone. He knew that music. He had seen Cadence Heller play that intro over and over again, on that video of her school fair. She'd been playing the guitar and waiting for her best friend to come in for the singing part. _You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you, don't you? Don't you?_

“Gordon, it's _Pamela_ ”, he snapped, grabbing the phone and picking up.

He put it on speaker. There was a clicking noise.

“I think we should continue finding your faults until everyone knows what a big, fat liar you are”, a woman's voice said.

It wasn't Pamela Olsen's, nor Cadence Heller's. It sounded much older. Howe stared at the phone. Both Jim and Carlos saw the look of recognition on his face.

 _I'll bet you think this song is about you, don't you?_ The harassment of Gregory Howe, the body of his son delivered to his door, payback for pushing Cadence Heller to suicide. Except maybe not.

There was another click, a rewinding noise, then a third click.

“... can't pay for his meds?” the woman said.

Carlos reached for a dictaphone and started recording the call. Gregory was panting in horror.

“Thelma”, he murmured. “That's _Thelma._ ”

Then Cadence Heller replied.

“ _Alright! I'll take it back!”_

“I believe that's not enough”, Thelma said. “I think we should continue finding your faults until everyone knows what a big, fat liar you are.”

There was a brief pause at that, then Cadence replied, in a pained, confused voice.

“ _What?_ ”

“Do you think just taking back that rape accusation will fix everything? People will _always_ suspect him after that. Unless we can prove what a worthless, conniving, spiteful slut you are.”

Another pause. Then Cadence screamed.

“THAT'S NOT FAIR! He did it! _He did it, he did it, he did it!_ And not just to me either.He should not get to walk away with it! _Why would you let him?_ ”

Then a click, and a longer rewinding noise.

“Safe house empty, home empty”, Gordon thought aloud. “ _Where did you live when your son died?_ ”

“What?”

“When Andrew abducted Cadence, where did he bring her?”

Howe fumbled with his words for a few seconds, then got an address out. “We sold the place, years ago”, he added, face blank.

Jim walked out.

There was a click.

“ _You filthy lying WHORE_ ”, Thelma shouted. “You ruined my son's life. I hope you enjoy what you're getting because it's not about to stop.”

Gregory fell down onto a chair, hyperventilating. The recording went on, with threats such as “How do you think your dad will fare with that cancer of his if he can't pay for his meds?” and a variety of comments on every legal action the Howe family could take.

Then the part they had already heard played again, up to the point Thelma answered the “Why would you let him?” with a “Still trying to lie your way out of this, you bitch? Wait until you see what I have in store for you”. The woman left, and Cadence started sobbing. It took a few minutes for her to speak again, in a litany of “I can't do this anymore! _I can't do this anymore!_ ”. After that, they heard shuffling noises, a door clicking, and minutes of silence. Gregory tried to hang up, but Carlos shook his head and stopped him. The recording was not over.

“Caddy?” Pamela Olsen's voice called after a few minutes. “Not here?”

Then there was just blank noise.

 

###

 

When Marcy Sanders walked into MCU with a suitcase in tow, Sarah nearly didn't recognize her. The woman had dyed her mousy brown hair blonde, cut ten inches of it, and added thick red rimmed glasses to her outfit.

“Detective Montoya isn't here?” she asked, confused, as she walked to Sarah.

“Miss _Sanders_? Everyone has been looking for you!”

“Well I know that, I got three dozen emails from _every_ detective on this case, asking me to get in touch. I'm sorry I didn't pick up when you called, the journalists got my cell phone's number so I just gave up on the thing. It's turned off somewhere in my bag.”

“If you'll excuse my question, _where_ were you? You vanished.”

Marcy grimaced.

“Of course I did! The press found me. So I changed coloring, packed my bags, found a seedy motel that didn't ask for my ID in Metropolis' slums, and hid for a while. In case I didn't repeatedly point it out to your detectives, _I hate trouble_.”

“Which motel?”

“Metro-star, on Queen Avenue. Who died NOW?”

“Please sit.”

Marcy did, and Sarah started explaining about how Simon Lamb had faked his own death and was - along with his partner - their killer. Then Jim Gordon called her.

 

###

 

Jim had been too much of a coward to tell Harvey he was going after a killer alone _again_ , so he had quietly walked out of the precinct before starting to run. His partner had only noticed he was leaving as he got to the doors, and by that point, drugged as he was, he couldn't have raced after him.

Jim was _sorry_ about that. He had called _everyone,_ though, so at least he would have backup. At some point.

As soon as he saw the house, condemned, all windows boarded up, he knew he was in the right place. He circled the place, looking for an opening, trying the doors, to no avail. He could hear voices inside, though. He called Sarah again.

“How far are you from the location? I think I've the right place.”

“Five minutes at most.”

He heard a long, agonized wail.

“I'm going in.”

He hung up, kicking the back door in. There were pictures all over the walls, polaroid shots of Andrew Howe's open casket, press clippings about his death and, painted in large, bloody characters: “It's on you”.

“If you think about it”, Pamela Olsen said, “he didn't have to die.”

Jim turned to the voice. It came from speakers on the wall, above the pictures. He crossed the hallway, trying door after door until he found one that wasn't nailed shut. He could hear sobbing upstairs, but the stairs had been torn down. So he went into the next room, where a headless skeleton was spread on the floor in a pool of dried blood. The wall was covered with more images, photocopies of Andrew Howe's yearbook picture with a gunshot wound painted in the middle of the face.

He could hear footsteps upstairs, and begging.

“It's all on you, really”, Pamela continued, her voice coming from speakers in this room too. You could hear her footsteps both from upstairs and the speakers. “If Cadence had lived, he wouldn't have died. Maybe he'd have gone to prison, maybe not, but he would be _alive_. It's all on you, because you were so set on _destroying her,_ like _he_ had tried to.”

He heard begging again. He moved faster. The next open room was much of the same, except with a crude, stylised drawing of a girl with a gun to her face, painted in blood on the wall facing the door.

“Caddy was _nice_ , you know. She told me ' _don't you go to the cops, I can do it for the two of us, I can take it'_. She didn't count on you and your fucking husband, did she?”

The wails came from the other side of the house, Jim realized. The footsteps were straight above him and walking away.

“How do you live with what happened to her? Oh _right_ , you don't _care_. But your boy? Pretty, handsome, everyone-loved-him Andy? Class president Andy? Star football player Andy? Hotshot at everything Andy? You must be sooooo heartbroken. Especially since it's your fault, you know.”

Jim went from room to room trying to find the _bloody way up_. The doors were shut so he had to cross every room in a set path, and the drawings on the wall grew more and more disturbing, scenes from Cadence Heller's deposition.

“I mean, it's not just the whole pushing Caddy to suicide thing, right? _Maybe you should have taught him not to rape girls._ Then none of that _mess_ would have happened.”

He finally got to stairs, and continued his room by room progress. More headless skeletons, skulls bashed in.

“He did it! He did it, he did it. He. Did. It”, Pamela said in a slow, cruel tone, echoing Cadence's words. “And not just to me either.” - She paused. - “I mean let's face the truth here, the way he slipped me those pills and gently walked me to a room? I'd be surprised if I was the first girl he had pulled that with. Your precious boy.”

Jim kept moving. The floor creaked on the speakers. The floor creaked behind him. He rolled to cover just as Pamela shot at him. _Tranq darts_. There was nothing cute about her now, no Popples T-shirt, no bouncy blonde curls. Her hair was long and raid, her face ten years older without the pinkish make up she usually wore. She got her second weapon out. It was a Glock, not a tranq gun, so he kept moving. She fired again, forcing him to get to cover, and hid behind a wall herself.

“Pamela, stop this! You don't have to do this”, he called.

“Sorry, got a bit of an interruption”, she said through the speakers. “How do you like the bathroom, Thelma? I trust the drawings are clear enough?”

There was noise downstairs and he heard Pamela shift, listening to it as he was.

“She's between us!” he shouted, hoping his voice would carry to Sarah and Allen, if it was indeed them.

There had to be an open door he had passed, too. He had cleared every room on the way. Pamela had to have come from somewhere. He heard her start running. He gave chase, following her from room to room into a part of the house that he hadn't seen before, and that was _not_ filled with skeletons and blood and pictures. He caught her in a bedroom as she opened a window.

 _Climber_.

She jumped. He went to the window, looked down, saw her running, and jumped after her. He hit the floor hard, dragged himself up, and chased her. He saw Allen, who had been circling the house, run towards him.

“Thelma Howe upstairs! Go!” Jim screamed, not stopping for a second.

Olsen was trained for parkour and if he gave her an inch, he would never catch her. She crossed the garden, jumping over a wall, and he followed, memories of his army days flooding in. They crossed a small patch of woods, reached a small road where a car was waiting, and Renee Montoya walked out from behind that car, gun drawn.

Pamela tried to turn, slid on the dusty ground, and lost balance. She rolled to the floor, quickly joined by Renee, who kept her gun aimed at her. Jim slowed down and got closer, his own weapon drawn. Olsen sat up, face scratched and twisted with rage. She didn't say a word.

“Never thought I'd say that”, Jim said between pants, “but I'm glad to see you, Montoya.”

“You called me, didn't you?”

“Didn't think you'd show up.”

She took a deep breath.

“Me neither.”

“How the fuck did you know her car would be _here_?”

“Only way to the house where the neighbours can't see you coming”, she replied in a tense tone. “Trust me, I checked extensively back then.”

Jim didn't ask why.

“Pamela Olsen”, he started as Renee bent down to cuff the woman, “you're under arrest...”

They heard a gunshot from the house.

 

###

 

Carlos closed the blinds of his office and pressed his face to the wall. He had broken the news of Thelma Howe's suicide to her husband, who had been utterly destroyed. Carlos felt ill, the whole case entirely too hard to stomach, and yet he couldn't possibly feel as bad as Sarah, who had been trying to talk Thelma out of killing herself. The last room of the path drawn by Pamela Olsen had contained no pictures, no drawings, no skeletons, just a loaded gun.

He had told Agnes Heller what the two vigilantes had done, too, and who they were, and why they had done it, and that had been soul-crushing too. They had found the tape on which Cadence had inadvertently recorded her suicide, after a cheerful message she had been preparing for her cancerous dad, who could not visit her. Thelma Howe had arrived as she recorded it, and the rest... The rest they had heard.

He spent an hour on the phone talking to Gillian Loeb. “Yes, they were caught”. “Yes, we have confessions for all of the murders”. “Our cops were found tied up in an alley three blocks away from the safe house”. “How Olsen found the safe house is a mystery, really”, Carlos had said as he browsed _his_ file, the one about the murder he had committed on Loeb's orders nine years before. The proof and leverage the commissioner had always kept well protected, and that had somehow ended up in the ends of the same vigilante who had found her way to a safe house only a few select cops knew about.

_A total mystery._

At nearly midnight, once everything had been settled and closed, he finally drove home. He found himself under Sarah's door.

 

###

 

Butch watched as the firemen finished putting out the fire on what was now a charred, blackened hole between two buildings. Years of work, and memories, all gone to ash. Garfield had been mildly apologetic after he had stopped giggling like crazy (and possibly wanking).

 _Well_ , Butch thought, _it's still better than being caught by Zsasz._

“I hear you let that Cobblepot kid go?” someone called from behind.

“Bullock! Fancy seeing you here!” Gilzean replied, turning to the man.

Only Harvey Bullock would walk straight to the new leader of one of the Families and casually say that.

“Well, you know, I heard the place had gone up in flames and I wanted to see.”

He walked closer, standing next to Butch as if this, the whole thing, was perfectly natural. He lit a cigarette.

“You shouldn't give kids flame-throwers, you know?” he pointed out.

“But it makes the boy so _happy_ ”, Butch piped back. “I hear you caught Not-Really-Kelly?”

“Yeah. Sad story, that one.”

“I liked that girl.”

“Well, she did take Sal out. She should have gone for Falcone too, I'd have loved to see that.”

“Heh. Don't worry, it's on my _list_.”

Harvey blew smoke out, upwards, looking at the blackened building.

“Shit, I thought there would at least be something left to salvage.”

“Nope. Everything is gone, nothing left of Fish.”

“I meant _booze_ , fuckwit. I need some good, expensive stuff today. I have to go and apologize to someone.”

“ _Booze_. You came here to swindle fucking _booze_.”

“Well yeah. I wasn't going to weep over some pile of bricks, was I?”

“You don't think the moment has any special meaning, do you?”

“There's plenty left of Fish. I mean, shit, I just have to look down at my arm to see the scar from when she shot me. Not to mention the weird stuff she did to my back, but for that I need a mirror.”

Gilzean paused.

“I don't want to know.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“What do you think? Rebuild! Expand!”

“Kill Falcone?”

“That too!”

“Good fucking luck with that.”

“Hey, you never know. Are you going to come and harass me every fucking day for intel like you did with Fish?”

“I just _might_ , if it annoys you so much.”

“Let me just set this straight, we're never going to fuck.”

“Thank God for small mercies. Now you're sure you don't have good booze somewhere?”

 

###

 

Carlos might not have been the most expressive man, but he knew how to make someone feel better. He had come in, pulled Sarah to him, and kissed her for an eternity.

That had tremendously helped with her mood.

She could have felt worse. She had turned her head away from Thelma Howe just in time. She would remember the house, the drawings, and the look on the woman's face for years, but she wouldn't have to remember _that_.

She sure as hell didn't think of it, even for a second, after Carlos knocked on her door.

After a few minutes of kissing, she would have  _begged_ for him to take her to the bedroom, and the bastard had asked if he could make himself a sandwich instead, because he had skipped supper. She had called him names. He had  _grinned_ .

And he had made himself a sandwich.  _Then_ he had taken her to the bedroom. And it had felt  _right_ . The whole thing had come with the extra bonus of - for the first time in forever - seeing him  _blush_ , genuinely  _blush_ , as she was taking a long, pleased look at his naked body. As she quickly discovered, making him blush was  _very easy_ as long as you were called Sarah Essen.

 

###

 

Jim had barely gone home, at one in the morning, when someone knocked on the door. He considered ignoring the visitor and sinking into his mattress, but there was another knock, so he just sighed, opened the door, and ended up face to face with a moderately blackened bottle of scotch.

“Harv?”

“Where can I put that down?” his partner said, pushing in. “Here.”

He put the bottle down on the coffee table, scratched his neck with the one arm that wasn't in a splint, then walked to Jim.

“Aw, for fuck's sake”, he swore, looking at the ceiling in exasperation.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to do something but I'd need both hands.”

Jim blinked, confused.

“Can I help then?”

“Hush.”

The blonde went silent and waited.

“Damnit, I pictured the whole fucking thing on the  _entire_ bus ride, how did I not think of the arm thing?”

“What was the 'whole fucking thing'?”

“This but with both hands”, Harv' replied, grabbing one side of Jim's face and kissing him hard.

_Ah_ . Yes, he could picture why “this” would have worked better with both hands. He wrapped an arm around Harvey's neck and kissed him back, pressing against him as hard as he could while trying to avoid touching his injured shoulder. They ended up panting against each other, both flushed and hungry for more, and Jim happily baffled.

Harvey took a deep breath.

“ _That_ worked.”

“What the hell was that?” the blonde asked with a grin, feeling himself blush like a schoolgirl.

“I'm done pussying out.”

There was not really room for thought or talking after that, so Jim just kissed him and pushed him towards the bed, and pulled his clothes away until he earned an annoyed shout.

“Bullet wound, asshat!”

“Right. Fuck. When will that thing be healed, again?”

Harvey snorted.

“Hey, everything else is in working order!”

“Now that's good news”, Jim said, moving down.

Thirty minutes later, he was laying against his partner's side, forehead on his shoulder.

“Do I get to know what I did right, here?”

“Oh Jesus Christ, not a feelings talk.”

“Come on, I need to know, see, so I can keep doing that thing.”

“Are you  _dense_ ? What am I asking, of course you're dense.”

Jim tickled him, and apologized when he thrashed and moved his injured arm.  _Sorry, sorry, sorry_ . Then Harvey turned to him and kissed him.

“It's not fucking complicated. I told you something. You listened. You took it to heart.  _Asshat_ .”

The blonde wrapped an arm around him and nodded.  _Yeah, I should do that more often._

“Now I have another question.”

“If it's a feelings thing again-”

“No. Are you ever going to stop calling me asshat?”

“I don't see that happening.”

Jim grumbled. Harvey studied his face for a while.

“You know when I say asshat I don't really mean asshat, don't you?”

“What do you mean, then? Fuckwit?”

Harvey laughed deep in his throat, warm, happy.

“No. Not fuckwit”, he said, kissing him again.

 

###

 

The next day, Jim found himself reviewing the “music box killer” case files, as Olsen and Lamb had just been sent to Blackgate and all the paperwork had to be in order. They had signed confessions for everything, so...

He stared at he files, then walked to Alvarez's office.

“We have a problem”, he said.

He still found it a bit difficult to trust Carlos, knowing Loeb had a file on him, but Harvey had rolled his eyes at his concerns and told him to let it go. “The kid didn't have a choice, you know that”. So Jim was trying.

“What kind of problem?”

“The confessions and the case don't add up.”

Alvarez went as livid as Jim had a minute before.

“What?”

“The murders mostly fit. That being said, during the first break in at the Howe's, you were  _talking to Pamela_ . And Lamb was in his kitchen with cops watching him through the window.  _So who the hell broke into that house?_ ”

 

###

 

Simon leaned in the seat of the police van, looking down at his handcuffs. Pamela, on the opposite seat, inspected her nail polish. He listened to the sound of the engine, to the chatter of the driver and his companion, to the sound of cars passing nearby, and then the sound of no cars passing nearby, ever.

Then the driver slammed on the brakes and the van swayed, so he pushed the floor with his feet and tried to hold on until the vehicle stopped. He grinned. There were gunshots. Someone opened the passenger door. Someone opened the door on the driver's side.

Then Tuck spoke. _Sweet music to my ears._

“Ross Gibson! My file here tells me that, six years ago, you drove a police van into a tree for the moderate fee of one thousand dollars, so Cristiano Di Antonio could escape custody and resume his job as a hitman for Salvatore Maroni. He then went on to kill quite a lot of people, I got bored with the counting after fifteen. So what about you give me the keys and I forget about that little thing?”

“I don't have the key!” the driver moaned.

Tuck groaned and paused for a second.

“Norman Robertson! I have nothing on you, as far as I know you're an honest man, but your friend here is about to get his brains blown in. Now, if you go and unlock the prisoners' door, I won't do that. How does that sound?”

Norman Robertson the honest man opened the door.

Simon smiled to Tuck and Marcy. Pam grinned like a maniac.

“You took your bloody sweet time”, Lamb teased. “Ten minutes more and I was in Blackgate for life, you know that?”

Marcy rolled her eyes.

“Will you quit with the smartassery? You would have had court dates. Now move your ass.”

And they did, getting out of the van to climb into Tuck's beat up Chevrolet.

 

###

###

###

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE ARE DONE!
> 
> Thanks to all the readers who stayed with the story so long! Reviewers: thanks for the comments and the encouragement, I adore you all :D
> 
> (And yes I'm aware I dropped a few plotlines like the whole Barbara and poisoner Ivy thing, this story was supposed to have more plot. Yes. I gave up on that.)


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